


Take A Shot?

by Allie_J



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Adorable Awkward Obliviousness, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - High School, Blow Jobs, Body Shots, Dating, First Time Sexual Experience (for Steve), Frottage, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Of course the party is hosted by Tony, Oral Sex, Social Anxiety, Teenage boys just generally being horny, What do you call a meet-cute where they meet and immediately get it on?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-04-23 20:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4891246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allie_J/pseuds/Allie_J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You like tequila?” he asked.  He waggled the bottle in front of him briefly before looking down at it himself, lip curling a little in disgust.  “I mean, it’s shit tequila, but –“</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve said.  “I mean, sure.  Whatever.  Yes.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve wasn’t sure why he showed up. A very real part of himself fought it, knowing that if he stayed home, he’d be just as content this Saturday as any other, curled up under his bedroom window and sketching stubbornly in the fading light.

But this Saturday, Stark was throwing a party in celebration of school ending. A Stark party – the kind that grew out of control so quickly the idea of being invited fell apart, and he knew he could slip in unnoticed.

Maybe he went because not going meant giving up on ever going, and he wasn’t ready for that quite yet. He was still somewhat attached to the idea of socializing. And this would be his best shot.

\--- --- --- --- --- ---

He felt like a camera in an action movie as he approached the house, slowly panning up to a scene of utter chaos and disaster. Even its massive wrap-around porch was choked with people, spilling out into the darkness of the front yard, littered already with discarded red cups. The music inside throbbed like distant bomb blasts. 

Something crunched like glass beneath his shoe. He lifted it, frowning down at an iPhone, the screen an intricate spiderweb of shatter.

Anxiety churned like battery acid in his stomach as he got closer, weaving into the crush of people, some his classmates, some not. It made him stuff his hands hard into the pockets of his hoodie, avert his eyes cautiously, but no one seemed to recognize him. Or acknowledge him, really.

It was a little depressing, but also a relief. 

He slipped through the perimeter of the living room, where an unspoken gap was maintained between the small clusters of people pressed against the wall and the circle packed onto and behind a sleek leather sectional, passing a bong. This wasn’t his first venture into the Stark mansion – he’d left his mark at last year’s party, throwing up next to the mailbox before dragging himself clumsily back home. He knew where the kitchen was.

The granite center island was choked with bottles. Stark, he knew, had donated a sizable proportion, but the bizarre variety suggested that some people had thoughtfully brought their own. He picked up a two liter of watermelon vodka, sloshing the contents in the bottle and wincing.

But alcohol was alcohol, especially when you were seventeen with poor social connections. And he had to get something in his bloodstream immediately, leaving no time to contemplate how to throw together a half-assed cocktail.

He poured three fingers into a cup, and god, it smelled like rancid Jolly Ranchers, but he tried to stop breathing through his nose and slammed it back. He gagged, coughing, looking around sheepishly, but no one had seen him almost throw up.

He needed a fucking chaser.

He rushed to the sink, part of his mind admiring the artful, brushed stainless steel of the curved faucet as he poured himself some water. He gulped it down, pausing to look through the window in front of him as the burn in his throat faded.

A pool was outside, accessible by a sliding glass door a few feet away. There were people crowding the patio, but no one was actually swimming. It was probably too cold, still – the weather hadn’t been breaking eighty, especially at night. Instead, the water lapped calmly in the semi-darkness, casting shimmering, turquoise shadows over the concrete.

It would’ve been almost pretty, if it weren’t surrounded by loud, anonymous strangers smoking and stashing empty beer bottles around the potted plants like surrogate garbage cans. 

He was about to turn away, find something to do while the alcohol sunk in, when a flash of white caught his eye. Someone, a guy, was pulling their white t-shirt over their head, the shifting blue of the pool water’s reflection dancing over his bare stomach.

He remembered the other thing he liked about parties, other than the vague reward of being able to claim that he was social. People-watching.

The same guy – he looked about his age, taller, of course, and no one he recognized – was undoing the button on his skinny jeans, unzipping his fly and shimmying them down his thighs. It looked like a challenge, but he wiggled through it gracefully, laughing and talking to someone next to him, his voice muted by the wall between them.

Yep. People-watching at its finest.

The someone was a girl, her long auburn hair falling over her shoulders. She was undressing too, but more demurely. It wasn’t that she looked unhappy about it, just coyly amused, as if she were only doing it to play along with him.

He felt the vaguest sense of annoyance – it wasn’t the same to watch a couple, even if they were both stupidly attractive, and actually a little cute together. It made something ache in him, a brief stab of want, and that kind of ruined seeing them both strip to their underwear.

It wasn’t quite enough, though, to make him look away. The guy straightened up as he tried to step out of his jeans, and his eyes followed the taut curves of his chest, his abs. He was muscular, but still lean, with a graceful balance to his body, and thighs that made his gaze bob between his knees and the too-low boxer briefs clinging just below his hips.

His hair was dark brown and long, grazing his shoulders, and it swung in front of his face, obscuring his eyes. It was a little frustrating, because despite the fact that it didn’t matter who he was, Steve wanted to get a better look at him. He wanted the full picture, because it was clear he was going to be thinking about this later.

The boy lowered his head, pulling his hair up and into a loose bun, apparently materializing a hair tie out of nowhere. A few stray strands still hung over his eyes.

Come on, look at me, Steve thought.

He secured his bun, tugged on it casually as he looked up.

But not in his direction. At him. Through the window and straight into his fucking face.

Steve startled, cursing as he dropped his empty Solo cup into the sink with a loud rattle. He jumped back, and the guy narrowed his eyes, lifting his head just slightly as if trying to look further back into the kitchen.

He clung to the idea that maybe, maybe, he couldn’t see inside. Inside the brightly lit kitchen, at night, from maybe a dozen feet away.

Fuck. He lowered his eyes to the floor, anxiety creeping up his spine like a cold snake, but he knew it was stupid to worry, because it wasn’t as if he’d have to see him again. It was just a little embarrassing to be caught.

He grabbed a warm beer from the edge of the crowded counter, flipping it open and taking a long, long swig. The shot from earlier had evidently done nothing for him.

He followed his instincts, running back into the anonymous drone of the crowd to make his escape. He couldn’t help glancing back for a second, though, as he passed the sliding glass door leading to the patio.

The boy had linked hands with his girlfriend, her pale skin glowing against the contrast of her black bra and panties, both trimmed in red lace. They said something to each other, and laughing, jumped into the unnaturally blue water.

He took another heavy chug. Adorable.

\--- --- --- --- --- ---

He was hiding in plain sight next to the bookcase when they walked back in. He told himself he wasn’t waiting – no. Just people-watching in general. It was only a coincidence that he’d positioned himself to be both as far away from the kitchen as possible while still having a perfect view into it.

His clothes were back, although it blew his mind to imagine how he’d managed to slide those tight black skinny jeans back up over wet skin. His t-shirt was looser, but damp, clinging to his chest in little patches that just barely hinted it at the sculpted planes underneath.

Maybe it was the alcohol creeping up on him, but he looked even better, much better, and Steve felt the same twang of semi-hatred that he tended to secretly direct toward people who had no right to be as damn attractive as they were. Unfortunately, it was drowned with an undeniable rush of want.

His girlfriend was back in her dress, stiletto heels dangling in her hand. He said something to her, grinning, and she shoved him playfully in the side, walking past him.

Steve watched as she made her way through the kitchen, slinking into the living room. She paused behind the sofa, then bent down, wrapping her arms warmly around the shoulders of a blond guy sitting there, angling her face into his neck.

Well then.

He shifted his gaze back to the skinny jeans guy, eyes widening in confused realization. How had he read that wrong?

Said guy was now perusing the alcohol bottle island himself, thoughtfully picking up this one and that like a scientist sifting through chemicals. He liked watching him, Steve decided, sipping on the dregs of his mostly-empty beer can and feeling unusually mellow. It was nice.

He selected a half-full bottle of Smirnoff – nice choice, Steve commented in his head – and circled the island, moving himself closer to the dwindling sea of random juices and soda used to make the booze just barely palatable. This meant he went from his back facing him to his front, and as he experimentally lifted a jug of grape juice, he looked up.

Their eyes met, and Steve froze. The other boy narrowed his briefly, then looked away, brushing a few long strands of hair away from his face. He evidently changed his mind, putting the Smirnoff carefully back where he’d found it and selecting a no-name brand of tequila instead.

Steve chugged back his beer, sucking on the aluminum edge, but it was empty. His heart was pounding. The way he’d looked at him, seen him, then glanced away – it was almost as if he recognized him. Him, the weird skinny hipster guy spying on him and his not-girlfriend through the kitchen window.

He balanced the empty can on the edge of the bookshelf, taking a moment to feel vaguely guilty about it, before deciding that now was an excellent time to visit the bathroom. He looked around, horror sinking into his veins when he saw the line already twisting into the living room. He could hear the far-off sound of someone banging on a door, cursing.

Fuck. No good. Now was an excellent time to get some air.

He started to make his way through the crowd and toward the front door, but froze when he realized that skinny jeans guy was now weaving into the living room himself, making his way toward the red-haired girl. He panicked, backing again into the niche he’d made next to the bookshelf.

“Nat,” the guy said, half-shouted, trying to make himself heard over the drone of the music. Steve wanted to sigh. Even his voice was hot. “Nat!”

He’d brought the bottle of cheap tequila along with him, and swung it now in the air teasingly.

“Body shots?” he mouthed, lifting the bottle with a devilish grin.

Steve sucked in a shallow breath, letting off a litany of curse words. He was not prepared for this level of people-watching. Not prepared at all.

But thankfully, Nat – bless you, Nat, he thought, bless you – waved him off. She’d already sunken into her boyfriend’s lap, her arms wrapped languidly around his shoulders.

He pouted dramatically, earning a smirk and a tight roll of eyes from the redhead, before turning around and walking himself and his bottle back into the kitchen. Steve assumed he was going to make himself a drink and call it that, and he relaxed back into the wall. 

Until, that is, the other boy stopped, turned, looked around. Looked straight toward him. Grinned.

If he hadn’t been leaning against a wall, Steve wouldn’t turned to look and see who was behind him. Skinny jeans guy was making his way toward him, quickly, confidently, and anxiety filled his chest like an overinflated balloon, tight and sure to explore any second.

“Hey,” he said as he reached him, smiling, a smile as open as warm as any he’d given his red-haired friend. “You don’t have a drink.”

Steve flicked his eyes briefly over to his abandoned beer can on the shelf, as if picking it back up could somehow save him. He tried to suck in a breath, thought about his inhaler in his pocket, tried to stop thinking.

“Yeah, I,” he started, licking his lips. He wanted to look down, but up close, even in the murky shadow of the party, the other boy’s eyes were light blue, maybe grey, and fuck, his hair was still all damp and disheveled. “I was just about to –“

“Great,” the guy said. He reached down, took his hand – actually took his hand, Steve’s mind repeated, folded it into his own like they’d known each other their whole lives, and pulled him toward the kitchen.

His cheeks burned, and he felt like a thousand eyes must be on them, but as they slipped through the crowd and into the kitchen, he realized it wasn’t true. Everyone was talking and laughing and trying not fall over, and no one was watching who held his hand.

The other boy dropped it once they made it to the counter, but still hovered close to him, still smiled. Under this brighter, more florescent lighting, Steve realized his eyes definitely had blue.

“You like tequila?” he asked. He waggled the bottle in front of him briefly before looking down at it himself, lip curling a little in disgust. “I mean, it’s shit tequila, but –“

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I mean, sure. Whatever. Yes.”

He wasn’t sure he really had the capacity to say no to anything this guy offered, as long as he kept smiling at him like that.

His agreement earned him an even brighter grin, one that made his stomach dive and turn in on itself. He watched as the other boy roughly cleared a space on the counter, pushing bottles aside so that he could hitch himself up and sit, letting his legs dangle.

“Great,” he said again. He reached out with his right hand, digging through the mess of cups and chasers and pulling out a few hidden gems. A small glass bowl of limes. A shaker of rough salt. A shot glass that Steve really didn’t think was clean, although he didn’t dare point that out.

Skinny jeans guy – it was too soon to ask his name, Steve rationalized, way too soon – poured a shot. It was messy and too full, and spilled out around the rim, splashing as he set it down. He unscrewed the salt shaker before dipping two fingers into the shot, letting more spill out onto the counter. He ran the wet fingers generously along the side of his throat –

Steve knew his mouth was falling open at his point, but it was hard to know what to do about that. His mind was putting together the pieces. What he’d asked Nat. Tequila. And then – all of this.

He swallowed hard, watching. Skinny jeans guy was just about to pour a little salt into his palm when he finally saw his face. His grin returned, slick and confident, a flash of perfect teeth that made his knees embarrassingly weak.

“Sorry,” he said, though he did not, by any means, sound sorry. “I guess I didn’t –“

He gestured vaguely to the wet streak along his neck, and Steve had no idea what the fuck to say.

He settled back further, reclining his chest and imperceptibly opening his knees. 

“I mean, if you prefer to take it from the bottle –“

Steve could’ve cried. He could’ve fallen to his knees and cried, because there was no way in fuck this was happening, no – fucking – way.

“No,” he found himself saying, shaking his head. “No, I mean, it’s – it’s fine.”

The other boy eyed him for a moment, appraising him, before the shit-eating grin returned.

“Okay then,” he said. He dipped his fingers into the shot again, re-wetting the same streak on his neck. He poured a little pile of salt into his hand, smearing it into the roughly the same location, where a majority stuck. A good amount fell away too, disappearing under the v-neck of his t-shirt. 

He grabbed a slice of lime, meeting his eyes for a moment.

“You ready?” he asked, pale eyes lighting up wickedly.

Steve nodded. It was becoming a challenge not to openly lick his lips.

The other boy tucked the lime gingerly between his teeth, letting his mouth hover open. He had thick lips, lips that looked wet and swollen from drinking, and his mouth was so perfect he nearly missed him slowly pulling up the bottom of his shirt with his left hand.

He balanced the shot perfectly between the top of his jeans and the curve beneath his naval, a few dark hairs hidden behind the damp glass.

Maybe the alcohol had finally caught up to him, because he felt drunk – the warm, blissful-but-I-feel-nothing kind of drunk – as he looked up at him. The other boy looked away, but only to give him better access to his neck.

He stood on his tip-toes, hesitating only briefly before licking across the wet salt on his throat.

The taste was overwhelming, and he wished, for a second, that he could sort out the difference between salt and skin. But there wasn’t time for that – he had to duck down and hover over an amazingly hot stranger’s belly button. He had a split second to watch the glass waver as the other boy breathed in and out, and Steve decided he liked that.

He nudged the shot free, tilting it back with his bottom lip and teeth. He cheated, using his hand to brace the glass and let the tequila burn straight down his throat. 

He swallowed, both to quell the burning and at the thought of what was next. He glanced up again. The lime.

He straightened up, leaning in closer. He’d just licked this guy’s neck, but somehow this was more intimate, their eyes aligned, the promise of a ghost of a kiss. Skinny jeans guy had half-lowered his eyelids, waiting.

He closed the distance, carefully nipping the lime and sucking it into his own mouth. He bit down, squeezing the juice over his tongue, and softly spit the rind back into his hand.

The brunet was sitting up, watching him. Steve thought he might say something unbearably cocky, but instead he just slid off the counter, landing just inches from him, so that the two stood chest to chest.

He patted the granite softly, and Steve saw that he was no longer smiling.

“My turn,” he said, licking his lips. He imagined they must taste sour from the lime. His neck was still shiny with alcohol and spit, gritty with the leftover salt.

Steve swallowed hard. Somehow his mind hadn’t considered this – a reciprocation. He realized he thought skinny jeans guy maybe just got off on being hot, on pulling the kind of embarrassing desperation out of people that he’d obviously just put well on display. Not that he’d actually –

But he found himself obediently hoisting himself onto the counter. Now they were almost the same height – he was a little taller, in fact, so he could look down into the other boy’s eyes. He tried that, and the corner of the brunet’s mouth turned up, not looking away as he swept back long, loose strands of hair again behind his ears.

Steve turned to the mess of supplies next to him. First step, pour the shot –

His heartrate began to pick up, and he realized he was nervous, impossibly more nervous than he had been just moments ago sucking tequila out of a shot glass two inches above a stranger’s crotch. Now he was completely on display.

Skinny jeans guy didn’t make it easy on him, either. His eyes followed his every move pointedly, shifting down as he dipped two fingers into the full shot glass, soaking them before lifting them to his neck. He’d caught too much of the liquid, and it dripped down in beads as he painted the curve of his throat.

The other boy watched every drop as the excess liquor fell and soaked into the collar of his hoodie. Then he looked up, expectantly, and Steve startled. Right. Salt.

He grabbed a small handful, smearing it over his neck. It didn’t feel sexy, not like the way skinny jeans guy had done it, so effortlessly – but he hoped it was passible. Now to position the shot.

Unlike the other boy, who was wearing only a thin white t-shirt, he had a thick hoodie pulled over his own, and it bunched thickly at his waist. Definitely not sexy. Trying not to overthink his decision – trying not to think at all, really – he quickly unzipped it, shrugging his shoulders out of it and letting it fall to the kitchen floor.

Skinny jeans guy’s eyes widened at that, as if surprised, but he appeared to relax quickly, an easy half-smile returning.

Trying not to spill half of it all over himself, Steve raised the shot, hovering it between his hips. With his free hand, he pulled up the minimum amount of shirt he felt he could get away with, exposing a thin stretch of his pale, slightly concave stomach. A stab of self-consciousness overwhelmed him, because what was underneath – it was nothing even close to the other boy’s toned abs and lightly tanned skin.

But he positioned the shot anyway, tucking it into the curve of his navel, and he was shocked at how quickly skinny jeans guy surged up.

Before he knew it, the other boy’s warm tongue was dragging lightly along his throat. He tried not to breathe, to hold still, as the brunet moved slowly back down, forehead hovering over his chest until he reached the shot glass.

He bit at the bottom of the rim, tilting the shot back over and into his mouth. It was messy – some of it sloshed over his chin, wetting his skin.

He lingered, close, his forehead just inches from Steve’s stomach as he roughly drew the back of his hand against his mouth. Then he looked up, grinning, and, to his utter horror, rested his forearms comfortably over his thin thighs.

“You forgot the lime,” he said easily.

Steve frowned, cursing himself mentally. Really? His one chance at doing body shots with a gorgeous stranger, and he’d managed to fuck up a three step process.

“Oh, I’m – fuck, sorry,” he stammered. He knew his cheeks were flushing pink as his hand darted out to the side, searching for the little glass bowl. He finally found it after what felt like minutes, snatching up a lime slice blindly in his fingers.

He stuck it between his teeth immediately, not leaving himself any time to panic over what this initiated.

Skinny jeans guy, however, didn’t seem to be in any rush.

“It’s cool,” he said, his voice maintaining the same casual tone. He lifted himself up again, but more slowly this time, tilting his head just slightly as he drew closer.

When he was close enough, he gently bit the lime between his own teeth, tugging it away. He didn’t fall back the moment he had it. Instead, he lingered close, sucking the lime into his mouth and biting down while he was still just inches away, so close that Steve could almost feel the warmth of his breath.

Finally, he spit the rind into his hand.

“Um,” the other boy began, hesitantly, but not very convincingly, because he was smiling again. “Do you want to – go somewhere?”

Steve swallowed. Hard. He was pretty sure this was what religious people meant when they talked about the devil coming in disguise, and moving in mysterious ways, or whatever. Because this guy could’ve beckoned him off the end of a cliff and into a pit of flames, and he would’ve gone happily.

“Yes,” he said, hoarsely. And then, thinking better of it – 

“I mean,” he continued. “That’s – yes.”

The other boy’s smile widened, and Steve really, really wanted to ask what his name was, but that wasn’t going to happen because he’d pulled back from him and taken his hand again, so casually, and held it as he hopped down from the counter. And then they were weaving through a crowd of people –

People, he’d forgotten they were literally surrounded by other people –

\- and walking up a staircase, and Steve felt sober, ridiculously sober, even as his mouth still stung from the tequila and the salt. He watched as skinny jeans guy patiently knocked on doors, ignoring the angry ‘fuck off!’s and stifled moans, until he finally found a room that was unoccupied.

Steve had never been so profoundly grateful that Tony’s house had so many fucking bedrooms.

And then skinny jeans guy was pulling him swiftly into one. Steve barely had time to register the sound of the door clicking solidly shut behind him before he was shoved up against the nearest wall, but gently, if a shove could be gentle –

And then he was being kissed.

His mouth tasted exactly the way he would’ve imagined. It was warm and wet and tart from the alcohol, and his lips enveloped his completely, like he was born to fit into them. The first kiss was long, and steady, and satisfying, like taking a deep drink of water before swallowing, and it made his whole body relax into the wall, his head lolling against it as if he were about to fall asleep.

But then skinny jeans guy pulled back, just slightly, and pushed his lips in again, and Steve realized he was being coaxed to kiss back. It would’ve been embarrassing, if he didn’t already feel so wonderful.

He felt hands settle firmly against his hips, and then, as they kept kissing, they wandered, drifting up under his shirt, ghosting over his sides.

Skinny jeans guy sucked his lower lip into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth, and Steve let his jaw fall open wider as he stifled back a moan. The other boy surged in immediately, licking tentatively inside with his tongue.

They had gotten closer, imperceptibly closer, and Steve could feel the heat building between them. He realized he wasn’t doing anything with his hands, so he mirrored the other boy, sneaking them up underneath the thin fabric of his white t-shirt.

He let his hands just brush over the skin, at first. Then, getting braver, he let them settle into the touch, holding the other boy firmly against him as he explored the dips in his lower back above his hips, the firm muscles anchored by his spine.

It was like he’d done something the other boy had been waiting for. He pushed forward, crushing the space between them until it was nothing, deepening their kiss until Steve almost couldn’t breathe.

With nothing between them but their clothes, he could feel how hard skinny jeans guy was. The knowledge instantly made his own erection twitch where it was stuffed uncomfortably under the zipper of his jeans, even as his mind wondered how that was possible.

That this guy was hard. That hard. For him.

It wasn’t really possible to pull him closer, but Steve tried, using the hands still exploring his back as an anchor and nearly lifting himself off the wall. Their hips ground together, and skinny jeans guy finally broke away from his mouth, gasping.

His breath was moist and hot over his ear. Steve lifted his hips again, experimentally, grinding their erections together a second time, and he was rewarded with a soft, low moan.

Steve let his head fall back against the wall, absorbing the deliciousness of that sound, and skinny jeans guy evidently took it as an invitation. He tilted his head to the side, ducking against his shoulder and wetly kissing down his neck.

He kissed down and down, and when he reached the collar of his shirt, he lifted one of his hands to pull it roughly to the side, exposing just enough skin that he could reach his clavicle. He kissed along the hollow beneath it, and when he ran out of skin, he sucked, nipping his teeth down in a gentle bite.

Now it was Steve’s turn to moan, and he arched his back, surging up uncontrollably. He felt skinny jeans guy reach back, firmly grabbing his ass and holding him there, pressed against him.

He ground his hips down, deliberately, and Steve nearly whimpered at the way they slotted together, even with the unbearable bulkiness of their clothes. The other boy broke from his neck with one final, firm suck against the bite, ostensibly to catch his breath. Steve could feel him breathing hard, head tucked into his shoulder.

Skinny jeans guy ground down again, slowly, and Steve jerked up to meet him, and gradually, he realized they were creating a rhythm. A slow, torturous rhythm of hot breath against his ear and a hard cock grinding down into his own.

Already, he could feel the tension pooling beneath his navel, winding tighter with every sigh. He couldn’t take this. Just this was enough, and if they kept going, he knew he could come.

That thought made him catch his breath with doubt. Was that – grinding against each other against a wall, in the dark – the endgame? Or was it supposed to be the beginning?

Did skinny jeans guy want to fuck him?

The question made his mind edge toward panic, because he didn’t have lube, or a condom, and he was a virgin.

He’d always imagined losing his virginity in a vaguely romantic way. Like in a bed, ideally. With someone who knew his name.

But then skinny jeans guys let out a soft groan, releasing the hand pressed firmly against his ass only to reposition it again just as firmly, and Steve jerked his hips up, and melted, and maybe it was stupid, to wait for someone who was just going to break his heart later, anyway. Why not take the opportunity –

But skinny jeans guy was moving away from him, slowly. Not really moving away, just breaking contact with every part of his body, and still hovering just inches above him. 

Steve felt his body freeze up in confusion, and he looked up, frowning.

The other boy was smiling a little, but his eyes were hesitant. Concerned.

“You okay?” he asked. He sounded like he was chuckling a little, beneath his question, but Steve instinctively knew it wasn’t in a mean way. “You got all – still.”

Great, Steve thought. So much for panicking about sex. They’d barely made out for ten minutes and already he’d fucked this up.

“Uhm, no,” he mumbled, cursing himself. “I mean, yes, I’m – I’m fine –“

“Relax,” the other boy said. He moved back in, closing the small distance between their bodies, and instantly Steve’s body obeyed. Skinny jeans guy leaned into his neck again, kissing the skin just beneath his ear. He went slower this time, using his mouth lazily, and Steve fought back an urge just to sigh.

This was so nice. He didn’t know how this had happened, or why, but it was lovely. Maybe someone had spiked his drink somehow, and he was really passed out in a corner somewhere, dreaming this.

“How have I not seen you before?” the other boy asked, fitting the words between the slow, warm press of his lips to Steve’s neck. The question sounded almost like it could be rhetorical, he wasn’t really sure, but after a few long seconds he started to worry that if he didn’t answer the other boy might stop, so he did.

“Uhm,” he managed to choke out. They didn’t go to the same school, that much was obvious. “I don’t really –“

Steve hissed, sucking in his breath for a moment as skinny jeans guy grazed his teeth briefly over the sensitive skin of his throat.

“I don’t really go to a lot of, uhm,” he continued, forcing the words out along with a hitched sigh. “Parties.”

“No?” the brunet questioned. He was nearing the curve of his shoulder again, and he paused. “Maybe that’s a good thing. If you did, maybe you wouldn’t be here alone.”

Steve let those words sink in, his mind rebelling against the compliment. He wanted to argue with him, almost, insist that there wasn’t exactly a line of guys banging down his door, but he didn’t want to talk skinny jeans guy out of – whatever this was.

He wanted to compliment him back, to tell him that he couldn’t believe he wasn’t with the hot redhaired girl, that he was here alone, too. Except maybe he wasn’t, really – maybe he did have a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Drunkenly making out with a stranger didn’t exactly prove singlehood –

“You’re quiet again,” the other boy said, and Steve could feel the vibration of his gentle laugh through his chest.

Jesus, Steve, he thought bitterly to himself. Stop thinking.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. He felt a brief rush of courage, and he asked, trying to make his voice teasing – “Would you rather be talking?”

Skinny jeans guy pulled back, just enough to look down at him. He was grinning. Steve’s heart jumped as the other boy’s eyes clearly roamed over him, moving down his body and back up to his face.

“Maybe,” he said, after a moment. His smile brightened. “But – no. Not right now.”

He shifted forward again, and this time, Steve felt his hand pressing into him, fingers curling slightly around the hard curve of his cock, still straining against the fly of his jeans.

“Can I suck you off?” the other boy asked, his voice soft.

Steve felt his mouth fall open. He blinked a few times, then shut it, hoping against hope that he didn’t look as shocked as he felt.

The brunet averted his eyes, his grin faltering into something more serious.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want –“ he began.

“No,” Steve said suddenly, cutting him off. “I mean – yes. Yes, yes you can.”

He released the breath he was holding, trying to calm himself.

“If you want to,” he finished, tentatively.

Skinny jeans guy’s smile was back. 

“Okay,” he said, the smile shining through his voice. He leaned forward, catching Steve’s lips in a lingering, but simple kiss.

They broke apart, and Steve’s mind didn’t even have a chance to start freaking out before the other boy had sunk gracefully to his knees in front of him. Instead, he bit hard into his bottom lip, licking away the soreness as he willed himself to be still. 

Skinny jeans guy raised his hands, slowly unbuttoning his jeans and carefully lowering the zipper. Steve was so hard he had to fight not to jerk forward just at the accidental brush of his fingers against him.

And that was nothing, compared to the other boy reaching inside his boxers and pulling out his cock.

He forced his back against the wall even as it curled up off it. He looked down, and it was surreal, the sight of this beautiful guy in front of him, thighs splayed apart and stretching the fabric of his jeans, staring straight forward at him, at his cock, almost reverently.

It was mesmerizing, and impossible. But then the brunet leaned forward, taking just the tip into his mouth, and Steve groaned, letting his eyes close and his head fall back. 

He couldn’t have imagined it, and he’d tried. The slow, wet lick of his tongue against him, moving around the tip in languid circles. A firmer stroke along the underside of his cock, and then a gentle, teasing kitten lick over his slit.

His groan choked into a whimper. How the hell was he going to make it through this? Already he wanted to cry at how good it fucking felt, and the other boy had just gotten started.

He hissed as the other boy released him, with a soft, obscene ‘pop’ that Steve thought was probably intentional. 

He lifted his head, mind swimming, to look down at him, casually leaning back on his heels. As soon as Steve’s eyes were on him, he wrapped his hand around him, giving him a few firm strokes that nearly made his knees buckle.

“That okay so far?” the other boy asked, grinning. His lips shone wet in the dim light.

“Jerk,” Steve breathed. “I thought we agreed no –“

He stammered, his ‘no’ falling into a groan as skinny jeans guy squeezed him harder.

“No talking,” he finished. He looked down, trying not to let his face show how desperate he was, already. If this guy wasn’t so hot, and so on his knees in front of him and willing to suck his cock and actually really good at it, Steve would’ve wanted to take him down a notch.

“Sorry,” the other boy answered, grinning and clearly not sorry at all. 

And it would’ve annoyed him, all that confidence, if he hadn’t immediately lowered his head and taken nearly all of him into his mouth.

Steve moaned softly, losing his thoughts as he fought the urge to snap his hips forward. Skinny jeans guy started off slowly, sucking as he gently bobbed his head up and down, and before long his head had rolled back against the wall.

And even as he inched closer and closer, his toes curling inside his shoes, a thought occurred to Steve. A vengeful, satisfying thought. 

After this, he was going to take skinny jeans guy apart.

But for now, he needed to focus on keeping himself standing up. 

He panted, letting himself focus on the mouth around him. He’d never been inside another person before, and every movement, every spark of friction was warm and wet and amazing. He found himself moaning again, almost absently, letting his hips roll forward in shallow circles despite himself.

He startled when he felt a sudden touch on the back of his hand. Fingers, sliding into his and pulling his hand forward.

Skinny jeans guy reached around the back of his head, pressing Steve’s hand pointedly into his hair without breaking his rhythm.

Steve curled his hand into his warm, dark hair. He was too far gone to really think about it, but he felt flattered, gratified that he was allowed this. He pulled at the strands lightly, careful not to be too rough.

When the other boy moaned, the sound vibrating over his cock, he nearly lost it.

“Jesus,” he gasped. He kept his grip on his hair light, not wanting to choke him, but it was getting harder and harder not to either thrust his hips up or pull his head down.

Instead, he let skinny jeans guy’s mouth ride him at his own pace, and he shuddered, shoulders trembling against the wall.

“Uhm,” he choked out, grasping for a name. He still didn’t know this guy’s name, and he was two seconds away from coming down his throat. “Uhm – hey, I – I’m really –“

He tugged gently on the other boy’s hair, trying to get him to pull back, but he didn’t. Instead, he quickened his pace, sucking hard and flattening his tongue against the underside of his cock as he pulled back.

Steve let out something like a whimper, and then he was coming, his thin chest heaving as he emptied into the warm mouth around him, his hand trembling where it was tangled in his hair.

Skinny jeans guy rode out every wave with him, letting his cock slip from his mouth only when it was soft and Steve’s breathing had finally started to slow. His head was still lolling against the wall, his eyes closed as he tried to relearn how to use his lungs.

He felt the other boy rest his forehead against his hip for a moment, maybe catching his breath too. Steve felt like a ragdoll, every joint limp as he leaned back with all his weight. He barely felt it as skinny jeans guy tucked his cock back inside and zipped back up his jeans.

The quiet of the moment finally got to him, and not wanting to be rude, he forced himself to lift his head and open his eyes. As he looked down, skinny jeans guy slowly stood up.

“Can I kiss you?” the other boy asked, when they were eye to eye again. Or, at least, as eye to eye as you could be when he was so short.

Steve wanted to tell him, his hazy, sated mind drifting, that he could do anything he wanted to him.

“Yeah,” he said, instead, and he did.

Steve melted into his mouth immediately, nearly sighing as the other boy tangled his hand into his short blond hair, a reversal of their earlier position. He could taste himself on the other boy’s tongue, and his stomach sunk pleasantly at the thought that he must’ve swallowed.

It was a gentle kiss, not as urgent as before, and already it felt more familiar.

“What’s your name?” he asked, as soon as the other boy pulled away from him.

There was a beat of silence, and then he felt him laughing, his chest bumping into his. Steve let his eyes flutter open so he could enjoy the wide smile he already knew was there, at the level of his eyes. For once, he wasn’t worried that the laugh might be directed at him.

“Bucky,” the other boy said, so close that if Steve stood on his tip toes he could’ve pressed their foreheads together.

“Bucky,” he repeated, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah,” the other boy confirmed, his voice still light with laughter. “It’s weird, I know. What’s yours?”

“Steve,” he said. He suddenly felt a little shy, which was ridiculous. 

“Steve,” Bucky repeated. The name still felt strange as he turned it over in his mind, trying to associate it with the other boy, his face, his body, his hands, his mouth. Bucky. “Hi, Steve.”

“Hi,” he answered back, softly, his cheeks burning. “Well, I, um – did you want me to -?”

He shifted his eyes downward, indicating what was obvious, especially when Bucky had pressed back up against his body to kiss him. He was still hard.

Bucky glanced down at himself, as if for confirmation, smiling wryly as he looked up again.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said, shrugging his shoulders a little.

“I know that,” Steve said immediately. He was a little offended at the idea, really. That it would be some kind of chore to get this gorgeous guy off. “I want to. I, um – I really want to.”

Bucky’s smile broadened at that, and he shifted closer.

“Well, in that case,” he said, and he bent his head, pulling him into another quick kiss.

Steve’s mind was still swimming, his body hyper-relaxed from his orgasm. It made him worry less about the fact that he had no idea what he was doing. Everything still felt incredibly surreal, especially these kisses that were beginning to feel as natural as breathing.

Bucky broke away from him, nudging his head in the direction of the bed.

“Mind if I sit down?” he asked.

Steve blinked a few times. Right. A bed. They were in a bedroom, and there, right in front of him, was a bed.

Somehow, this fact made him that much more nervous. But he nodded, his hot cheeks flushing further as Bucky wound his hand into his, holding it for the brief walk to the bedside.

He was relieved when Bucky actually did sit on the edge. For some reason, lying down felt dangerous, the thought alone making his heart pick up speed.

But, as Bucky dropped his hand, he realized he probably would’ve gone along with it, anyway. That hand could tug him anywhere.

“Ahh,” Steve began, hesitantly. Having his hand held, being kissed, was so easy. But speaking, evidently, still came with the same challenges. “Is it okay if I use my mouth, too?”

The words came out more awkwardly than he would’ve liked, a little clinical. But he didn’t know if he had the ability to say the words ‘suck your cock’ out loud.

As he anticipated, Bucky grinned, but he didn’t laugh at him outright.

“Honestly?” the other boy said. “You can do whatever you want.”

The words made Steve’s breath hitch, especially since he’d just been thinking about saying the exact same thing himself.

His mind raced, running through the possibilities. Did anything really mean anything, or was that just a phrase? He would’ve loved to get Bucky naked, to see everything, all at once. 

But then that meant being naked himself, probably, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

No – it seemed safest to give what he’d gotten, and assume that was what Bucky was comfortable with. Despite his words, he didn’t want to ruin anything by asking for too much.

And besides – the idea of having Bucky’s cock heavy in his mouth, working him over while he groaned and writhed underneath him –

That wouldn’t exactly be a sacrifice. 

As he decided, he was instantly eager for it. His knees were ready to drop.

“That’s what I want,” he said, finally. He forced himself to let out the next words, dirty and strange as they sounded. “I want you in - in my mouth. I wanna suck you off, too.”

He waited, eying Bucky’s face. His stomach flipped a little as he watched the other boy slowly lick his lips.

“Come here,” Bucky said, opening his arms in invitation. Steve noticed, as he stepped forward into him, that he’d spread open his thighs a little, too.

It was a bit scary, walking between them, but in a good kind of way, like edging into the first drop of a roller coaster. Bucky immediately wrapped his arms around his waist, and he let his arms drop loosely over his shoulders. With the other boy sitting, he was taller, and he liked that. It made him feel more – equal.

He leaned down, and Bucky lifted his head to meet him in another kiss. This, Steve realized, was the first one he’d initiated himself.

He tried not to dwell on that knowledge, deepening the kiss carefully. He didn’t want to go too far; it would’ve been so easy to move his mouth to Bucky’s throat, and push him back, and crawl over him on the bed –

But that felt like moving in a direction he couldn’t control, and at least, as he broke away from Bucky’s lips and sunk to his knees, he was in control with this. Frightening as it was, to have his every action experienced (and judged, a little, his mind whispered) by the gorgeous boy in front of him, it meant he could move at his own pace.

Bucky shifted underneath him, squirming a little as he undid the button of his skinny jeans. Just that – the knowledge that maybe, he was struggling to control himself, to stay still the same way Steve had – was a comfort.

They were really tight, and he was careful as he lowered the zipper, shimmying them down a few inches to give himself more room. Then all that was left to do was to reach in, and slowly take his cock out of his boxers.

Steve did, gently, his breath hitching. Bucky was bigger than him, a little longer and a little thicker, but that was to be expected. He was peach pink and flushed and rock hard, and already a little bit of precome was seeping out the tip.

He was beautiful, and even without any real intention behind it, Steve couldn’t help but wrap his hand around him, squeezing lightly, just to feel him.

Above him, Bucky whimpered. Steve’s eyes glanced up, and he realized that Bucky was staring down at him, his mouth hanging open a little, his cheeks flushed the same color as his cock. And the way he was looking at him, so intently, with so much want –

It made Steve’s stomach flip, and his cock twitch, and he knew instantly that he wouldn’t be able to do this without getting hard again. That was all right, though. It would be well worth it.

He slid his hand slowly up and down, stroking Bucky almost absently as he leaned down, aiming him toward him before wrapping his mouth around just the head of his cock, the way Bucky had, at first.

Immediately, he heard the other boy groan above him, and a surge of confidence spiked through him. He didn’t want to outright copy what the other boy had done to him, but it had felt so good, and he didn’t have much to go on, besides that. So he moved his tongue in slow circles, licking around the head of his cock as he got used to the feeling of it being in his mouth.

It felt bigger than he’d imagined, so much so that it was almost a challenge to maneuver his tongue. He sucked a little, pulling off for a moment so that he could lick his slit the way Bucky had, using just the tip of his tongue. His precome was salty, and bitter, a little like the tequila before the sweet tartness of the lime.

“Jesus,” Bucky whispered above him, and Steve glanced up again. He’d been so focused on his tongue, and his cock, and he’d almost forgotten the whole person.

Bucky was still staring at him, as mesmerized as before. Steve was too embarrassed to hold the gaze, and he blushed, ironically turning back to the boy’s cock. Bucky shifted his hips eagerly, and, knowing that his eyes were on him, Steve took him into his mouth again, his time trying to let as much as he could slide inside.

Bucky’s immediate moan was gratifying, and Steve reacted to it as much as whatever threads of a strategy he was holding onto, sucking as he pulled his head back, licking around the head of his cock again quickly before plunging back down.

Bucky’s hips jerked, pushing him in an extra inch, and Steve stilled his head for a moment, trying to let his jaw accommodate. He relaxed it as much as he could before starting again. He wanted to create a good rhythm, and if he could, he wanted all of Bucky in his mouth. He wanted him to like it – maybe even, think about it later –

“Fuck, your mouth,” Bucky cursed, writhing his hips again, but not pushing them up. If anything, grinding them down into the bed. Steve realized how hard he must be trying to hold back. “You’re fucking – amazing –“

Steve wasn’t sure if he could believe the compliment, but it made him feel warm all over, and a little more confident as he bobbed his head around the other boy. He relaxed enough to enjoy it when his nose bumped against his cotton boxers, and he lifted his hands, letting them roam over the top of Bucky’s thighs. He tried to pick up speed a little, his hands dropping to the inside of his legs, moving higher.

Bucky didn’t hold back his moans, although he did seem to be making somewhat of an effort to be quiet. Sometimes, especially at the moment when Steve paused, just the head of his cock in his mouth, before sinking down again, he made little choking sounds, like he was afraid of what would come out of his mouth if he didn’t stop it in its tracks.

“Steve,” he sighed, a moment later, his voice keening on the ‘eve,’ and Steve shifted his weight on the carpet. He was hard again, at this point, very hard, and the sound of his own name being groaned like that went straight to his dick.

“Mhm, Steve,” Bucky said again, and his time, Steve felt strong hands weaving into his hair, clutching at it. His blush deepened, and he thought he could’ve gone on sucking Bucky’s cock like this forever if he just kept that up, affectionately petting through the blond strands.

“I can’t believe we just – met – like – like –“

The other boy’s voice fell away, choked back. The squirm of his hips had gotten messier, jerking and grinding up harder.

“I’m, I’m,” Bucky said instead, dropping whatever sentence he had been trying to say. “Steve, I’m –“

He didn’t need the warning. Steve picked up his pace, the way that Bucky had, sucking as hard as he could each time he pulled his head up, even though an ache was developing in his jaw. He wanted it. He wanted to taste him.

“Please,” the other boy whined, slowly. “Can I come – in –“

Steve couldn’t bear the idea of pulling off his cock just to answer, so he tried to nod, quickly, but pointedly.

He kept up his pace, unrelenting, and it felt like only seconds before Bucky stiffened underneath him, his hips jerking up one final time. Steve tasted it before he felt it, a warm rush of come in the back of his mouth, a little bitter, but not unpleasant. He was a little sad when he swallowed almost automatically. He’d wanted to savor it a bit more.

He sucked lightly, riding out Bucky’s orgasm until he finally stilled, his frantic moan falling away into panting. He was regretful, too, as he pulled back his mouth, releasing the other boy’s cock.

It had gone so fast, and now it was over. He felt awkward, unsure of what to do when Bucky fell back, exhausted, onto the bed.

It felt weird to just sit there, waiting, between his legs. So Steve tucked him back inside his jeans, the way Bucky had, for him –

\- maybe that was just the polite thing to do? He wasn’t sure –

And when Bucky still didn’t say anything, he sat next to him on the bed, and laid down himself. But slowly, so that if he wanted, the other boy could’ve sat up and stopped him.

He didn’t. Steve watched his profile for a moment, his breathing heavy, but gradually settling. Slowly, he turned toward him.

Bucky shifted his weight to the side, stretching his neck toward him, and Steve realized, heart hammering, that he wanted to kiss him.

He leaned forward too, letting their lips press together. It was a brief kiss, simple, but Steve thought, by the way Bucky fell back with a sigh, that maybe he was just exhausted.

“I’m glad I met you, Steve,” he said, after a moment. His voice was a little different, slower and more serious, not as friendly and teasing as it had been before. Again, Steve thought, he was probably just tired.

“Me, too,” he answered back. It was true, but he wasn’t sure what else to say. “Was that – was that what you were trying to say before?”

Bucky half-grinned, as if just remembering.

“Kinda,” he replied. “Actually – I was going to say something more like –“

There was a knock at the door.

Steve’s shoulders stiffened, and he glared hatefully in the direction of the noise. Bucky, his body still slack and fucked out, didn’t seem nearly as bothered.

“Occupied,” he shouted out lazily.

“Bucky?” a female voice called back. That got the other boy’s attention, and he lifted his head a little, even though there was nothing to see. “Good. We’ve been looking for you. It’s like, two, and Clint is trashed. I wanna head out.”

Then call a cab, ‘Nat,’ Steve thought bitterly. He had a vague hope that maybe Bucky wouldn’t go with her, that he’d make some excuse, but he could tell, as he watched him frown in the dim light, that wasn’t going to happen.

“Sorry,” Bucky whispered, turning toward him again. “I’m their ride tonight.”

“I understand,” Steve answered back, quietly. And he supposed he did. It was ridiculous, to expect Bucky to ditch his friends just to – what, exactly? Lay in the dark and talk to him? “Probably good timing anyway, right?”

Bucky’s frown deepened, and he didn’t say anything. Instinctively, Steve’s mind seized with doubt. Was that rude to say?

“I guess,” the other boy answered, finally. He raised his voice. “Give me a minute, Nat! I’ll meet you guys at the car.”

“Thank you!” the girl sang back. He heard her say something soothing as her footsteps retreated down the hall, and Steve wondered if Clint had been standing there with her, drunkenly falling asleep against the doorframe.

“You need a ride, too?” Bucky asked. His voice was hesitant, and Steve wondered if he really didn’t want to offer, but did because it was the polite thing to do. Now that he’d revealed he had a car, and was leaving.

“No, it’s cool,” Steve said. “I can walk home.”

Another beat of awkward silence fell between them, with Bucky still frowning and watching him uncertainly. It didn’t help Steve’s nerves. He wasn’t really sure what people said, after they randomly hooked up at parties.

“Okay,” Bucky said, after a minute. He slowly sat up, and Steve mirrored him, his body rebelling against the movement.

It would’ve been nice, to lie there and just – talk.

“Well, um,” Steve began, because he had to say something. “I guess I might – see you at another party?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied. “I guess you might.”

His voice sounded even colder now, more detached. Had Steve done something wrong? Maybe he was just eager to leave, dropping the flirtatious act now that this had, well. Played out.

“Drive safe,” Steve mumbled. Whatever confidence he’d gained, when Bucky had moaned his name and slipped his hands into his hair, was quickly fading.

“I meant it, you know,” Bucky said, suddenly. “I’m really glad I met you.”

Steve struggled to meet his eyes. Now that he was leaving, he almost didn’t want to agree with him. It felt different, now. Sadder. Like a kinder version of goodbye.

But it was still true. 

“I am, too,” he agreed. 

Bucky leaned forward, and Steve’s heart jumped. He hadn’t expected a kiss.

But he let it happen. It was brief, and chaste, but still Steve tried to take from it as much as he could. He tried to let it linger, to memorize the way that Bucky tasted, the way his mouth felt pressed gently into his. 

“See you,” Bucky whispered, as he pulled away. He stood up.

Steve’s mouth felt open. He felt a final moment of panic, and he almost –

But it was too late. He watched, confused, as Bucky walked out the door, shutting it softly behind him.

 

\--- --- --- --- --- ---

 

More than a week passed, and now it was Monday, and Steve was grumpily doing his laundry.

He’d put it off longer than usual, waiting until his bag was overflowing and it was doubtful he’d be able to shove everything into the washer and get away with a single load. 

He’d put off a lot lately, really. He didn’t feel like washing a dish first thing after using it, hanging his hoodie in the closet rather than throwing it across the arm of the sofa. For the first time in a long time, his Mom had started gently nagging him about chores.

He still drew, his way of relaxing after homework and before bed, but little mistakes that he would’ve patiently corrected before frustrated him more than usual. 

And he kept switching, bitterly, between body studies and landscapes.

He didn’t really know why he felt this way, vaguely pissed off all the time. Or he did, but he didn’t want to feel that way, and he didn’t understand why he needed to.

He should’ve felt lucky. He was lucky, wasn’t he? A skinny nobody like him, and he’d managed to hook up with a hot guy at a party. He should be high-fiving himself.

But instead, he hated himself. He relived their brief conversation, after Bucky had – and he hated himself, because he could’ve asked for his number, and he hadn’t.

But he couldn’t be too hard on himself, could he? Because Bucky hadn’t asked for his number, either. Maybe it was better, that he’d gotten a friendly kiss goodbye instead of an awkward letdown, to remember the guy by.

Because he remembered every moment, and he thought about it. A lot. Especially at night.

And sometimes in the morning. And a few times after school, when he’d thrown his backpack down immediately and all but ran for the shower.

But no matter how many times he turned it over in his head, he couldn’t let himself off the hook, couldn’t come up with enough comforting excuses. No matter how he thought about it, it felt like a loss. It should’ve been a win, a notch on his bedpost –

\- the first notch, he thought, sullenly –

But no matter how he framed it, he wanted it to have gone differently.

He turned out the pockets of his jeans, the same ones he’d worn to the party. The ones that still looked pretty good, but also didn’t send the message that he was trying too hard.

He froze.

Two lime slices tumbled into his hand, old and shriveled up.

He was a little grossed out at first, and almost tossed them immediately, but it was – weird. Because he couldn’t remember putting limes in his pocket, and there was no feasible reason why he would’ve.

He looked at one a little closer, turning it over between his thumb and first finger. It still smelled tart.

Three numbers, scribbled in Sharpie along the outside of the rind.

His heart jumped, and he checked the other one.

Four more numbers.

A slow grin spread across Steve’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at writing porn so I'm really eager for feedback but also terrified.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few people asked for a continuation of this story and I just sort of ran with it. I originally meant for this to be a one-shot but - yeeeah, I'm a sucker for comments. I guess this will now be a chaptered fic, we'll see what happens together!

Steve punched the numbers into his phone, double-checking them before staring blankly at the screen. He took in a deep, slow breath, willing himself to be calm. He didn’t want to overthink this. Overthinking it was probably the best way to fuck this up.

 

<Hey, this is Steve from Tony’s party>

 

There. Simple. He toyed for a moment with the idea of adding a smiley face, but decided that could veer on the side of sounding stupid, or overeager. Safer to leave it out.

 

He stared for a few long seconds at the green send button.

 

Seriously just do it it’s fine, his mind rushed, and he pressed the button before another thought could stop him.

 

He released his breath. It was done. No going back.

 

Now he had to wait. He slipped his phone back into his pocket, busying himself by finishing loading the washer. He was just throwing one of the last socks in when he felt his phone buzz again his hip.

 

Damn. That was fast.

 

He forced himself to finish, not wanting to be overeager. He did pour in the detergent really quickly, though, and practically slammed the lid shut before starting the cycle and reaching back into his pocket.

 

<Heyy!! you DID get them, realized later maybe ur Mom did ur laundry really did not think that one thru. whatcha doin>

 

He grinned at the words, trying to imagine them in Bucky’s voice. They hadn’t spoken much that night, and when they had it had felt – intense. At least for him, every word paving the way for what might happen next. And now they were just casually chatting.

 

<Ironically, the laundry>

 

He let himself lean against the washer, rumbling pleasantly against his back as it filled. He didn’t need to kid himself. There was no way he was going to get wrapped up in doing anything else, now.

 

<lol yeah? just found them? couldn’t wait?>

 

Even though he was completely alone, Steve blushed. He took back everything he’d just thought about how casual it felt texting Bucky. He’d completely walked into that. This was why he kind of hated talking to people.

 

<What? No. I found them last week, just wanted to keep you on your toes>

 

He didn’t even hesitate as he sent it, grinning a little. Take that, Bucky. That’s what you get for teasing people who are obviously into you.

 

It only took another moment to get a reply.

 

<that’s cruel Steve. just cruel. a week srsly? i was dying>

 

His smile broadened at that. He couldn’t know how serious Bucky was, but even if there was just a grain of truth to it, it made him feel wonderful.

 

<Sorry. I’m clearly an asshole. Probably shouldn’t give your number to every punk you meet at parties.>

 

Steve waited another minute, licking his lips as he re-read Bucky’s last text. “I was dying” –

 

<the real asshole is my english teacher. we have to write our final paper on hamlet. been staring at a blank word doc for 15 min>

 

<No kidding? Hamlet is my favorite Shakespeare play. Sorry you’re frustrated though>

 

Wow, he hadn’t even thought at all about that text. Usually he carefully considered what he said, even in a face-to-face conversation. This – texting back and forth with a very hot guy he’d recently hooked up with – felt like it should be way more terrifying.

 

<really?? any way you could help a guy out? i don’t even know where to start>

 

At first, Steve’s mind teetered into the gutter, imagining a different way to interpret the phrase ‘help a guy out’. But then he really considered the question, realizing he wasn’t exactly sure what Bucky meant. Give him advice over text? Meet him at the library?

 

As if Bucky could read his mind and knew he was hesitating, a second text came through before Steve could formulate a reply.

 

<if u wanted to come over some time this week after school that’d be amazing. i understand if not tho. i’m sure ur really busy with ur own stuff>

 

Go over to Bucky’s house? His face flushed, imagining himself alone again with him, but this time in a place that was personal. His room. His things. His bed.

 

There was no way he was going to refuse that, not for a second, even if the thought had his heart hammering almost immediately with anxiety. He just didn’t want the knowledge of how excited the offer made him to seep into his text.

 

<Yeah, absolutely. How about Wednesday?>

 

Okay, so he sounded a little eager, but you could also interpret that as a friendly willingness to ‘help’. And he was free tomorrow but he’d suggested Wednesday. He congratulated himself on his self-restraint, even as he wished Bucky would text him back saying, oh, sorry, I’m busy all week is there any way you might be able to make it over in twenty minutes?

 

<wed’s great>

 

Damn. Maybe he should’ve said tomorrow. Now that it was confirmed, the realization hit that he’d have to wait.

 

The next text came quickly, with Bucky’s address. Another followed immediately after.

 

<see u then ;)>

 

Steve’s eyebrows rose at the winky face. Fuck. There was no misinterpreting a winky face.

 

 

 

\--- --- --- --- --- ---

 

 

 

He hadn’t really expected to hear anything from Bucky, what with their plan to meet up now set. So he was surprised when, in the middle of his history lecture, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

 

He slid it out carefully, reading the text as subtly as he could.

 

<cats or dogs?>

 

He grinned, surprised both at the fact that it was Bucky and at his question.

 

<Is this a dealbreaker? Because I’m nervous>

 

He lifted his eyes again, trying to look dutifully engaged with what his teacher was saying, but it was only a moment before he felt his phone vibrate again.

 

<answer the question. i need to make sure u aren’t a serial killer before u come to my house>

 

His smile quirked a little at that, and he replied, careful to keep his phone hidden:

 

<You already gave me your address>

 

He redirected his attention to the Powerpoint presentation in front of him, but Bucky replied right away. At this rate, he’d spend as much of the class texting as he would pretending to listen.

 

<u hate cats don’t u>

 

He bit his lip, not wanting to look like he was laughing.

 

<Both :)>

 

<thank god. do u think snakes are evil or cool>

 

Well, so much for learning. Steve promised himself that he’d be sure to read whatever chapter was being covered in their textbook carefully to make up for it.

 

<Cool. I found a garter snake under a rock once when I was seven and I wanted to keep it as a pet until my Mom said I’d have to feed it dead mice and that made me sad so I let it go in a rose bush and pretended it lived there until I was twelve>

 

He typed as fast as he could, lifting his eyes every few seconds so it wouldn’t be completely obvious what he was doing. He was lucky he was in the lecture hall. This would’ve been impossible if he’d been in a lab or discussion group.

 

It was a longer wait this time until his phone buzzed again.

 

<i had a hermit crab when i was 8 w/a purple shell & when he died i buried him in our yard in a mac&cheese box & i made him a cross w/popsicle sticks w/his name on it & every once in a while i’d find it in the grass and put dandelions there or daisies>

 

Steve grinned at that, even in class. He couldn’t help it.

 

<A mac and cheese box? You have to be lying that story is too cute. Did he get a eulogy?>

 

<ru kidding? i made my mom & dad & sister stand around the toilet when I flushed my goldfish Goldy>

 

A second text came immediately.

 

<AND they had to dress nice i made my sister braid her hair>

 

So Bucky had a sister. He wasn’t sure why that little piece of information made him feel so warm inside – it was just a simple fact. But he hadn’t imagined actually getting to learn things about Bucky.

 

<Kids’ pet names are always so obvious. Really, you named your goldfish Goldy?>

 

<oh so ur a pet name elitist huh? i’ll have u know someday i’m gonna get a black cat w/white paws and she will be named mittens>

 

<Nah I’m a hypocrite. When I was a kid I had a stuffed cat and I named her Purr>

 

Oh God, had he just admitted that? He was talking about his childhood stuffed animals? He was so far from playing it cool it was insane.

 

But Bucky only texted back that he’d had a teddy bear named Bucky Bear, arguably sourced from his parents referring to it as ‘Bucky’s bear’. Then he texted that he had to shut up because his Chem lab was starting, followed by a quick ‘talk later’.

 

Once their conversation halted and Steve’s mind was free to focus on other things, he realized it was reeling. He couldn’t believe they’d texted so much, and so effortlessly, and about such non-sexy things.

 

He’d never imagined it could feel this easy.

 

 

\--- --- --- --- --- ---

 

 

Later that day, after school, he found himself sprawled out lazily on his bed, mind restless. He figured he’d earned a chance to just stop and think. Bucky hadn’t texted him the rest of the day, and he’d forced himself to pay attention in the remainder of his classes. He usually didn’t have to fight that hard not to lose himself in daydreams.

 

He’d even read and made notes on the chapter his history teacher had been covering when he’d blown off paying attention to text.

 

Yeah, he decided, he deserved a break.

 

The sun was just beginning to set, lighting up his room in shades of hazy orange. He watched the light move in waves over his ceiling, broken up by the shadow of the tree outside his window.

 

All day, he’d been distracted, and if he was honest with himself, a little horny. He was nervous about meeting up with Bucky again, but he also wanted it, badly, and it was hard to tell which he felt more: excited, or scared.

 

He wondered what would happen. He was sure something would happen again, because why would Bucky have given him his number if he hadn’t wanted to keep messing around? But that thought – not knowing what Bucky might want him to do – didn’t make him panic the way it suddenly had at the party, when they’d just started making out against the wall.

 

He didn’t know the guy well at all, but somehow he knew that if Bucky wanted something he wasn’t ready for, he could say no, and it wouldn’t be completely awkward. It might not be easy to say, but somehow he trusted the other boy wouldn’t be pissed at him.

 

But what did he, Steve, want to happen? He didn’t even know. He knew there were things he wasn’t quite ready for, but there was still plenty that fell in the grey area of ‘I wanna try it’.

 

If everything happened exactly the way it had at the party, he decided, he’d be perfectly happy.

 

Steve let his eyes flutter closed, remembering. This wasn’t the first time he’d tried to bring to mind, in detail, what he and Bucky had done to each other – not even close – but the memories didn’t feel worn out yet. The same words and actions coaxed the same response out of him, and it was happening again now.

 

He was half-hard already, and he stroked the outline of himself slowly, remembering how Bucky had pressed his hand against his cock and asked if he could suck him off.

 

Remembering his exact words – “Can I suck you off?” – had almost the same effect on him now as they had then, making his mind shut down and his heart speed up. He could remember the lowness of Bucky’s voice, how it was both serious and calm but also urgent.

 

He was getting harder, and he squeezed himself lightly through the denim before pushing down with the heel of his hand. He tried to imagine it was Bucky, hovering above him and teasing him with one hand, using the other to unbutton his jeans.

 

Cued by his fantasy, Steve undid the button in real life, unzipping his fly and pulling out his cock. He wrapped a hand around himself, giving it a slow, firm stroke as he tried to remember how Bucky’s mouth had felt around him, the one thing he couldn’t come close to recreating alone, in his own bed. It had been so hot and slick and overwhelming, and then there was the way Bucky had only sped up and sucked him harder when he’d tried to tell Bucky he was close –

 

He sighed, stroking himself a little harder at that particular memory, how his hand had been shaking just a little as he twisted his fingers into Bucky’s hair –

 

On the nightstand, his phone vibrated.

 

He paused, breathing out in a rush as he considered. On the one hand, it could be his Mom or something, and that would suck to read, now. On the other hand, there was a chance it could be –

 

He reached over with his free hand, the other still loosely gripping his cock, to check his phone.

 

<idk which is harder not to think about, you or my chem final>

 

Steve nearly groaned at the words, and the squeeze he gave his cock the moment he read them was almost involuntary.

 

He could finish jerking off before texting him back. In fact, he should probably do that, so he could talk to him with a clear head and be sure not to say anything stupid.

 

On the other hand –

 

He released his cock, letting it fall against his stomach as he quickly replied –

 

<Really? Seems like an easy choice to me>

 

It was definitely flirting and he should definitely be terrified, but instead he grabbed his cock again, pumping it slowly. Wherever Bucky was at this moment, he was thinking of him, him, giving him his attention –

 

His phone vibrated almost immediately, and he snatched it, breath hitching.

 

<ur right. fuck chemistry. wanna skype?>

 

Oh god, oh god, he thought. He went right back to stroking his cock, even before he answered. There was no way he could Skype, he was in no shape whatsoever to Skype.

 

Hissing as he released himself again, he quickly typed out -

 

<Can’t right now kinda busy>

 

\- before curling his hand back around his cock as quickly as possible. It wasn’t even about remembering the party anymore, it was about this, getting off on the impossible idea that he was on this guy’s mind. That he might be in his bed, tomorrow.

 

His phone buzzed again. He forced himself to stop, squeezing his eyes shut briefly with a soft moan before checking it.

 

<yeah whatcha doin? don’t tell me ur blowing me off for homework>

 

If you only knew, he thought. He typed out the first thing he could think of, desperate to be touching himself again.

 

<Thinking about you too>

 

He sent it, rocking his hips up into his hand even as a rush of panic flooded his mind. It mixed with the haze of being so close, and made it hard to think rationally. Had he really just said that? But it didn’t really matter, not right now.

 

A bead of precome had run down his cock, leaving a wet streak against his palm. In some part of his mind, he hoped his hand wouldn’t get too wet, because he didn’t want to get his phone sticky when Bucky replied.

 

Except he didn’t, not for what felt like several long, long, long minutes. Steve was thrusting up into his hand, whimpering, and he thought he might have to let himself come before he got a response.

 

But his phone finally vibrated, and he ignored it for a few gratuitous seconds before biting down hard on his lip.

 

“Fuck,” he whimpered, even as he reached for it again.

 

<god I never wanted to write a paper so bad in my life>

 

And there was something else. A photo.

 

Steve’s hand was shaking as he nudged the screen with his thumb, scrolling down.

 

Bucky had taken the picture from his perspective, like the camera was at the level of his eyes and he was looking down at himself. He was laying down, a blue plaid bedspread underneath him. One leg was propped up lazily, the other straight, and he was wearing a loose pair of sweatpants.

 

He could see the outline of Bucky’s cock inside them. He was hard, and in the photo his hand was curled loosely around himself.

 

Steve nearly lost it right then and there. He slammed the phone down, letting it bounce against his mattress. He grabbed his cock again, working it over with a punishing rhythm, moaning even through gritted teeth.

 

Bucky was alone, too, hard and horny and thinking about him –

 

He came with a startled cry, his hips stilling as he spilled on his shirt. He let his head roll back, exhausted, as he panted through his mouth, letting his ability to breathe come back.

 

Somewhere on his bed, he heard a familiar buzz.

 

He couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really motivated by feedback, thank you to anyone kind enough to leave a comment. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... this took forever. My apologies on that. But writing smut is actually really, really hard, it pushes me pretty far outside my comfort zone. And that's good, but ... then I have to beta my own writing ... and cringe ... and ... I don't know, I hope this is good.

Steve let himself pant heavily for a moment, struggling to catch his breath. His body felt warm and boneless and blissfully exhausted, but he knew he couldn’t ignore Bucky, not after the photo he’d sent. He just wished he’d gotten it about twenty minutes ago, when there was still blood left in his brain.

 

He forced himself to lift his arm, suddenly as heavy as a bag of rocks, and push his hand around haplessly on the bed until he found his phone tangled up in his sheets.

 

<u there?>, the latest text, still unread, said.

 

For all that his body felt like warm pudding, he still felt a little stab of guilt. Bucky was waiting for him to comment on the photo. Had been waiting.

 

Only he couldn’t exactly explain that the photo was what had pushed him over the edge, and he’d needed a few good minutes just to start breathing again.

 

<I’m here> he texted back immediately, then laid the phone screen down on his chest, thinking. What was he going to say? All the thoughts running lazily through his head were just a little bit too honest.

 

You look fucking amazing and I can’t wait to get my hands on you tomorrow –

 

He flicked open his phone again, pulled up the picture. Bucky, hard, touching himself through his sweatpants. It wasn’t fair, sweatpants weren’t supposed to be sexy like that. Neither were blue plaid bedspreads and still, there was nothing he wanted more than to slip underneath them and be skin-to-skin with this guy.

 

I can’t wait to be in bed with you? No, he couldn’t say that, either. Too desperate.

 

He glanced down at the picture again. Even though his body was completely sated, it still made a shiver run up his spine. He couldn’t believe it was meant for him.

 

Another buzz. His eyes shifted to the message.

 

<awfully quiet>

 

God, he was being an asshole. He bit his lip, forcing himself to think.

 

<Sorry> he typed immediately. <Just needed a minute to recover>

 

He sent it, trying to suppress all the doubts that flared in his mind, demanding that he analyze every word. It was true, anyway.

 

He pulled his blanket up, feeling his body nudge itself toward sleep. Part of him wanted nothing more than to do just that, curl into the warmth of his bed and fall into pleasant nothingness. But a part of him wanted to talk to Bucky a whole lot more.

 

He blinked lazily as his phone buzzed again.

 

<yeah?> Bucky sent. <u liked it?>

 

Steve smiled a little at the words, even though they made him wonder. They sounded doubtful, but – he couldn’t phantom how Bucky could think he wouldn’t.

 

I loved it, he thought, his mind drifting a little. You’re perfect. Your body is perfect.

 

But he couldn’t say that.

 

<Wednesday is too far away> he sent, instead. Sure, it was a little revealing, but Steve knew he could only keep up the barest game of hard to get. It was hard enough already not to shower him with compliments, tell him how much he thought about him, how much he wanted him. All things that were bound to make him feel uncomfortable if Steve didn’t keep it in moderation.

 

<agreed>

 

The text came back almost immediately, and Steve’s little smile deepened. He watched the little thought bubble icon underneath the text that signified Bucky was still typing.

 

<want to come over now? i’ll sneak you in thru my window>

 

<it can be like every cliché teen movie ever>

 

Steve’s breath caught a little at that, startling him out of his almost-sleep. He hadn’t been expecting an offer to come over.

 

He’d been preparing himself for Wednesday, he realized. Imagining meeting him at his front door, walking inside, what he’d say, how they’d keep up the pretense of writing the English paper until – well, they didn’t anymore.

 

Sneaking into his room at night was a whole lot more direct. It made his heart beat faster with anticipation, because he did want it, he wanted to be alone with him again, he wanted – but also with anxiety, because he hadn’t even thought about that, didn’t have a chance to think it through, and the suddenness made it terrifying.

 

<Can’t wait huh?> he texted back, shamelessly deflecting. Call Bucky out on being overeager when really he was just scared.

 

<what do u think? need some more pics?> came the reply, and Steve almost groaned under his breath at the thought of that.

 

<Yes please> he sent. He felt a wave of brief, surreal contentment wash over him, fading just as suddenly. That had been happening a lot, lately. The sudden realization that all of this was really happening. To him.

 

<punk> Bucky sent, almost immediately. <so greedy. well, if u won’t sneak in thru my window, can i at least get one?>

 

Steve read the text, and dread suddenly took hold in his stomach, crowding out his little rush of elation. Bucky wanted a picture. A sexy picture.

 

He groaned a little under his breath, pulling the blankets up to his chin. Why? He wasn’t sexy. His body wasn’t sexy. The way he was snuggling under the covers was definitely not sexy.

 

He blinked at the ceiling, mind straining, wondering what to do. His phone buzzed after a minute, and he checked the text hesitantly.

 

<sorry>, it said. <u don’t have to send anything. i really can’t wait, tho>

 

The words were like a balm, and he relaxed instantly, reading them. Part of him felt a little bit of regret, that he wasn’t any good at this. That he couldn’t be the type of guy to sext and take really tempting selfies. But it meant a lot, that Bucky didn’t seem to mind that much.

 

<Me too> he sent back, right away. It was the least he could say.

 

And then, coasting on a sudden whim, he raised his phone above him.

 

He smiled a little, and took the picture.

 

He checked it, immediately frowning again as he looked it over. It wasn’t bad, as far as selfies went. His hair was messy, tangled up with sweat, but his eyes looked bright and relaxed, and – yeah. He’d had way worse selfies.

 

He shut his eyes hard for a moment, screwing up courage until, finally, he pushed his finger down on the ‘send’ button.

 

Then he let the air out of his lungs, waiting. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Maybe Bucky would be a little annoyed. He’d been expecting a hot picture, a – provocative picture, and what Steve had sent was anything but provocative.

 

He hesitated a little when his phone buzzed, waiting a few extra seconds to check the text.

 

<oh my god>

 

And then, a moment later, before Steve could really start overthinking it –

 

<adorable>

 

He cringed a little, feeling a blush burn at the top of his cheeks. He hadn’t really been going for adorable. He wasn’t sure what he had been going for, really. But – it seemed like a good thing?

 

But now, for the twenty thousandth time that night, he wasn’t sure what to say. Thank you? Return it with a compliment of his own? Thank you, just so you know, you’re ridiculously hot?

 

He waited a little too long, and Bucky sent him another message before he could even start formulating a response.

 

<u look sleepy tho. ru tired?>

 

When he read the words, Steve realized how true they were. The little spikes of adrenaline he’d been getting from talking with Bucky had kept him awake, but now that he thought about it – his body threw itself into the thought, and he settled deeper into the warm cocoon of his blanket.

 

<Possibly> he texted back. He stifled back a yawn, cursing all this suggestion.

 

<why didn’t u say so? u should’ve said something> Bucky texted back. <go to sleep.>

 

Steve almost wanted to fight him on that. Say, you weren’t keeping me up, even though he was, and it had been so worth it.

 

<Fine> he texted back, finally, when it was clear his mind was too muddled to come up with anything cute or clever. He felt himself smiling again, as he typed out the words of his last text.

 

<See you tomorrow>

 

 

\--- --- --- --- --- ---

 

 

Steve couldn’t remember the last time he was actually eager to get out of bed.

 

He felt like he was in a fog, but in a good way, a warm, content fog that made time fly by a little faster. He felt weirdly content brushing his teeth, getting dressed, throwing his stuff into his backpack. He wondered, at one point, if this was kind of how people felt when they were stoned.

 

Even his toast tasted better than normal, the burnt edge adding a little bit of flavor.

 

His high didn’t end at home. As he pushed his way through the crowded hallways, elbows jostling him, he realized he was looking at his peers differently. Usually, he either ignored them, or meditated sourly on the things they had that he didn’t (good looks, athletic ability, friends). But now, walking among them, he felt like he had a secret, a secret they would all be desperately jealous of if only they knew.

 

“Morning,” he said to the girl he’d sat next to all semester, but had never spoken to.

 

“Morning,” she said, eyes widening as she made a face and deliberately turned away.

 

He liked this feeling.

 

It burned away, though, as the day trudged on and he still had to sit through his classes and do tedious things like pay attention and not look at his cell. Bucky didn’t text him – he made sure to check between classes, just in case he missed the vibration against his thigh – and that was probably a blessing, but the lack of a distraction made it even harder to get through the day.

 

Finally, though – after a day of restlessly sketching in the margins and falling in and out of daydreams – the last bell rang, and he was free.

 

As he made the unfamiliar turns that would lead him to Bucky’s house rather than his, he tried to quell the rising anxiety in his chest, only just outweighed by sheer excitement. It would be fine, he told himself. It would be more than fine. People didn’t send suggestive pictures because they weren’t interested.

 

And yet – he frowned, jerking his shoulder and repositioning the weight of his backpack. They’d never really talked together, in person. The party had been all hands and mouths and little words, plus it had been dark, plus they’d been drinking. And texting gave him the advantage of having several minutes to consider everything he said. What if, in person, it all fell apart?

 

What if Bucky realized how boring he really was, how quiet? And then he just didn’t invite him over again and they stopped talking and –

 

Stop it, he told himself. He was getting close to Bucky’s house, and he took in a deep breath before forcing himself to release it slowly. Don’t ruin this before you’ve even given it a chance.

 

By the time he reached Bucky’s door, checking and doublechecking the house number with the address on his phone, his chest still felt like it had a sandbag on it. But he steeled himself, licking his lips as he thought about the picture, and the blue bedspread, and how it seemed like Bucky really wanted him even though he had a hard time understanding why.

 

He rang the doorbell.

 

He shifted his weight between his feet as he waited, long seconds lingering into what felt like minutes. Don’t panic, he told himself. Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t –

 

He was about to ring the bell again, when suddenly the door opened in front of him.

 

It was Bucky. He was dressed in much the same way he had been at the party, dark skinny jeans painted on his thighs, except that this time there was a loose hoodie covering his shoulders. He was smiling, almost beaming, and Steve realized he had somehow kind of forgotten how attractive he was.

 

“Hey,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

 

“Hey,” Steve said back, clutching sleepishly at the strap of his backpack.

 

He hesitated, wondering what to say. Should he ask to come inside? But Bucky was expecting him, obviously he was going to come inside –

 

“Come on,” Bucky said, startling him out of his thoughts. “I’ll take you up to my room.”

 

He reached out his hand, and Steve took it, suddenly remembering the party and the way Bucky had so easily pulled him into the kitchen. He liked it, he decided, letting Bucky pull him over the threshold, the door shutting behind him. They drifted through a foyer, and up some carpeted stairs.

 

When Bucky held his hand, it was like his mind shut off. He didn’t need to worry about what to say or how to act or where to go. He could just let Bucky lead him.

 

Bucky opened one of the first doors at the top of the stairs, and then they were there. His bedroom.

 

Bucky dropped his hand as they both stepped inside, and Steve shut the door behind them automatically, trying not to make too much of a show of looking around. It was overwhelming, all the unfamiliar things to look at, the posters, the pictures lined up on shelves. All clues to who Bucky was. Steve wished he could look at each item carefully.

 

“You can put your stuff wherever,” Bucky was saying. “Sorry it’s such a mess.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve said, dropping his heavy backpack on the floor near the door. The room didn’t look like a mess – in fact, it was cleaner than his, with no clothes on the floor, no sketches or papers scattered over his desk. Even his bed was made, the blue bedspread – the only object he recognized – smoothed perfectly over the mattress.

 

He wanted to say something along that line, about how not a mess it was, but that almost felt like disagreeing with him, so he didn’t.

 

“So,” Bucky continued, suddenly pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I don’t know how your school does food, but I’m starving. Is it cool if I order a pizza?”

 

Steve hesitated, frowning. He felt weirdly far away from Bucky, the two of them standing apart in the bedroom, but it felt like it might be weirder to walk closer.

 

“Um,” he said, licking his lips slowly. “Actually – I’m vegan?”

 

He cringed. He hadn’t wanted the statement to come out so much like a question – he knew he was a vegan, he definitely was a vegan – but he didn’t want to sound demanding, and that was sort of what his diet was. A picky, demanding, pain in the ass diet that laughed in the face of what most Americans ate three times a day.

 

He watched as Bucky frowned, dropping his phone down to his side.

 

“Vegan?” he questioned. “So that means – no milk, right?”

 

He didn’t sound annoyed, only a little confused. Steve felt his body relax a little, releasing tension he didn’t even realize he was holding in.

 

“Yeah,” he said. He finally took a step closer, because it was starting to feel like he almost needed to shout to talk to Bucky across his bedroom. “No milk, no eggs. No animal products. No meat, definitely.”

 

“Ahh,” Bucky said. His smile returned a little. “So no pizza. Gotcha. Where do you usually order from, then?”

 

Steve frowned, considering. He didn’t usually order out much. At home, he would just make himself enough pasta to last two or three meals, and round it out with canned soup.

 

“Um,” he said again. “There’s a Thai place pretty close to here?”

 

For some reason, he wanted to blush when Bucky’s smile spread even wider.

 

“Okay,” the other boy said. “Thai it is, then.”

 

While Bucky was looking up the number on his phone, and then, a moment later, calling to place the order, Steve let himself wander a little closer to Bucky’s desk. He picked up a framed photo, immediately recognizing Bucky. He was grinning, with his arm thrown around the red-haired girl he remembered from the party. Her smile was more demure, but sincere.

 

“What do you want?” Bucky whispered. Steve jumped, setting the picture back down immediately and spinning around.

 

“Pad thai is fine,” he said, after a brief hesitation. Bucky went back to talking on his cell and, forced with the choice between either watching him awkwardly or amusing himself, he turned back around, picking up a second picture.

 

This one was of him with another girl, a little younger. They had the same dark hair.

 

“Food is on its way,” Bucky said behind him. Steve dropped the picture, turning around again to face him. He flushed, suddenly realizing how close the other boy was, almost crowding him back against the desk. “That’s my sister, by the way.”

 

“She’s pretty,” he said, willing his nerves to be calm.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, a wistful glow of pride appearing behind his smile. “And smart. And stubborn, too. My Mom says we’re too much alike, and that’s why we don’t always get along.”

 

Steve looked up at him quizzically, frowning.

 

“You’re stubborn?” he questioned, leaning back against the desk. He watched as Bucky’s smile shifted into something more like a smirk.

 

“I can be,” he said, finally taking a step back from Steve and moving instead toward his backpack. “Case in point, procrastinating on this damn English paper.”

 

He pulled a piece of paper out of one of the folders inside it, then sat pointedly on his bed.

 

Steve hesitated for a moment, then straightened up, walking over to it and sitting down next to Bucky. He felt incredibly conscious of every movement, but the other boy hardly seemed to notice him, engrossed in reading the paper.

 

“Here,” Bucky said after a moment, handing it over to him. “You should probably read it yourself so you know exactly what my teacher wants.”

 

Steve took the paper and did just that, his uncertain smile fading into a frown, and then an outright scowl of distaste.

 

“Write a three page paper supporting the claim that Hamlet’s tragic flaw is indecision,” he read. He lowered the paper into his lap before raising a hand slowly to his temple.

 

Bucky was watching him with amusement, and then concern.

 

“Woah,” he said, after a moment. “Hamlet isn’t my favorite, but – you look like those instructions personally offended you.”

 

“Sorry,” Steve mumbled, but he couldn’t keep the disgruntled frown off his face. “It’s just – never mind. Give me a second to think about this.”

 

“No, tell me,” Bucky said immediately. He leaned closer to him, and Steve was so caught up in his thoughts that he hardly noticed.

 

“Saying Hamlet’s character flaw is indecisiveness is just,” Steve began, throwing his hand up uselessly in the air. “It’s just – such a gross oversimplification.”

 

“Gross oversimplification?” Bucky repeated. He grinned, leaning down and pulling his backpack toward him on the floor. “Hold on, I’m going to write that down.”

 

That was enough to snap Steve back to reality, and he frowned, blinking in surprise as Bucky pulled out a notebook and a pencil.

 

“Don’t,” he said, suddenly. “I mean, I don’t want you to offend your teacher. It’s just that – well. He’s wrong.”

 

Bucky outright laughed at that, but Steve could tell, by the smile he gave him a beat later, that it wasn’t directed at him.

 

“This is going to be the best paper I’ve ever written,” he mumbled to himself, opening up the notebook to a blank page. “You’re amazing. Wait – gross... over-simp-li-fi-ca-tion.”

 

Steve blushed at the compliment, not sure what to say as Bucky wrote down his words anyway, despite his protest.

 

“Okay,” the other boy said, looking up at him as he finished. “It’s a gross oversimplification. Now tell me why.”

 

“Um,” Steve stuttered. It didn’t help that he was already blushing, and it really didn’t help that Bucky’s eyes were now locked on him, waiting intently for his answer. “It’s just that – it suggests that if Hamlet had only decided from the start to murder Claudius in revenge, it would’ve solved everything. But that ignores the internal struggle of his character. He hesitates because he doesn’t want to be a murderer. He doesn’t buy into the eye for an eye logic that would make it acceptable, or even right, for him to do that. His philosophical beliefs aren’t compatible with the life at court he’s been born into.”

 

He watched, horrified, as Bucky actually scribbled notes on what he said. He waited until the other boy finally lifted his head, pencil poised and ready for more.

 

“This is great,” he said, grinning. “Keep going.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said, reluctantly. “Ahh – so, Hamlet chose to consider the moral consequences when he could’ve framed the situation as black and white. It looks like he’s being indecisive but really he’s paralyzed because there isn’t a way for him to be true to himself and still have a place in his world.”

 

“Isn’t that a line in the play somewhere?” Bucky asked, looking up from his notebook. “Be true to yourself?”

 

“’To thine own self be true?’” Steve questioned. “Yeah, it’s in there. Except people take it out of context, because it comes at the end of a long list of contradictions, when Polonius is telling his son how to act. Be this, but not that. It was kind of impossible advice. I think the whole play is about how it’s really impossible to be yourself, and still play the roles society expects from you.”

 

Bucky scribbled down a few more notes, then looked up again.

 

“You know, when I asked you for help, I didn’t realize you were a fucking expert,” he said. He leaned forward on his elbows, and Steve swallowed hard.

 

“I’m not,” he said, immediately. “It’s just, Hamlet is my favorite play.”

 

“No,” he said, leaning forward even further. “I can’t believe you know this much without, you know, notes in front of you or something. You’re really smart.”

 

He smiled encouragingly, and Steve felt his blush deepen.

 

“Thanks,” he said, looking down at his hands, because it was frankly too hard to look at Bucky.

 

“My English teacher is going to shit himself,” the other boy was saying. “He’ll probably try to say I plagiarized it but it’s not plagiarism if I write it all in my own words, right? And I’m just inspired by your ideas? It’s no different than spitting back out his lectures, which I think is what he –“

 

Suddenly, Steve heard a low chime coming from downstairs.

 

“Oh, the food,” Bucky said, interrupting himself. He stood, setting his notebook down absently on the floor. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

 

Steve nodded, still feeling somewhat in a daze from his praise, and watched him leave, listening to the thunder of his footsteps as he ran down the stairs.

 

Now that he had a moment to himself, his mind immediately demanded an assessment of how things were going. He had to admit, there didn’t seem to be anything to panic over. Nothing felt all that awkward, even if it was a little embarrassing, the way Bucky had clung to his opinion of Hamlet as if he really were more of an authority than his teacher.

 

He smoothed the blue bedspread beneath his hand. It was worn, and soft, and he wondered if –

 

But he shouldn’t, he decided. If nothing happened, nothing happened. He didn’t come here just for – that. If all they did was talk about Shakespeare and eat pad thai, he would be fine with that.

 

In fact, he was warming up to that potential turn of events as Bucky re-entered the bedroom, carefully shutting the door behind him. He had a large brown bag in his hand, and he set it on his nightstand before sitting down again.

 

“So,” Steve said, suddenly eager to say something, anything, to fill the silence. “If not Hamlet, what’s your favorite Shakespeare play? Or are you just not all that into Shakespeare, period?”

 

Bucky had been moving to open the bag, but he stopped, leaning back and considering for a moment.

 

“Mmm,” he said, turning toward him. “Maybe – Romeo and Juliet?”

 

Steve grinned at that, trying not to let the incredulity show on his face.

 

“Really?” he asked, trying not to be rude and laugh.

 

“What?” Bucky asked, his voice mock-offended. “We studied it freshman year. You think I can’t be a romantic guy?”

 

Steve flushed at those words, any desire to laugh instantly fading.

 

“You did order take out for us,” he said, ducking his head a little.

 

“I did,” Bucky said. He leaned a little closer to him. “Pad thai. Exactly what you wanted. And guess what? You’re not the only one who can quote Shakespeare.”

 

He suddenly took Steve’s hand in his, grabbing it where it was resting on his bed. Then he nudged his fingers upright, until their palms were pressed together, Steve’s fingertips not quite reaching the line of his first knuckle.

 

“Palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss,” Bucky said, his voice soft. He leaned even a little closer still. “Um. I forget the next part. Something about pilgrims.”

 

“Are you trying to get me to kiss you?” Steve asked, suddenly, horrified as the words slipped from him.

 

“Maybe,” Bucky said, tilting his head to the side. “Is it working?”

 

And then Steve leaned forward a little, too, and let his eyes fall closed, and they were kissing.

 

Everything seemed to happen at once, even though all Steve could focus on was the certainty of Bucky’s lips against his, warm and firm, demanding, but still restrained. He let his hand relax, his fingers spreading apart until they slipped between Bucky’s. Then the other boy was pushing forward, leaning more of his weight into him, and Steve let himself fall passively back onto the bed.

 

Bucky nudged him further up the bed, still kissing him, until he pulled his legs up off the floor. They broke apart for a moment, and Steve could feel him shifting his weight above him, his knees settling on either side of his hips before he took his mouth again.

 

That kiss was hard, a little aggressive, as if Bucky were trying to tell him, wordlessly, how long he’d had to wait. Then he broke away again, leaning in a moment later to kiss the corner of his mouth, his jaw, the curve of his throat, slowly moving down and down until he was sucking lightly at the swell of his collarbone.

 

Steve whimpered, arching up into the touch. Each kiss made him a little more restless, a little more eager, and by now he was straining not to press his body up against his.

 

Bucky seemed to take the little sound as an encouragement, letting his hand wander up underneath Steve’s rumpled hoodie, under his shirt, drifting over the bare skin of his side before settling on his hip, gently holding him down.

 

Steve raised his own hand to Bucky’s shoulder, nearly groaning in disappointment when all he could find to clutch at was a thick handful of his hoodie.

 

He didn’t want to ruin the moment by speaking, not when Bucky’s mouth was working so beautifully back up his neck, but finally he forced himself to open his eyes, raising a hand to Bucky’s chest and gently pushing him back.

 

The other boy leaned back immediately, and the sight of him, hair already disheveled, pupils blown, lips full and swollen and wet, went straight to his groin.

 

“Um,” he managed to say, fighting the urge simply to crush Bucky’s lips back into his, “Can you lose this?”

 

Bucky’s eyes widened in confusion for a moment, until Steve tugged gently on the string dangling from his hood.

 

“Oh,” Bucky said, his voice low. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”

 

He leaned back a little further, quickly unzipping his hoodie and shrugging out of it before casting it somewhere on the floor. Then he hovered back over him, fingering the metal pull on the zipper of Steve’s hoodie hesitantly.

 

“Yours too?” he asked, and Steve all but ripped the zipper down for him.

 

“That’s a yes,” Bucky said, laughing, and he leaned down to kiss him messily as Steve struggled to get his shoulders out of his hoodie without actually sitting up. Bucky helped him, tugging it down, but since neither of them were actually looking at what they were doing, it took a minute. Finally, Steve arched his back, and Bucky pulled it out from under him, throwing it to the side.

 

Bucky made a hum of satisfaction that Steve could feel in his lips as they got back to kissing properly, settling into each other. Steve reached behind his shoulder, pressing his hand high on his back and letting the other cup around Bucky’s throat, creeping it higher as they kissed, until it tangled into the hair at the back of his neck. He could’ve almost cried with contentment when Bucky paused, reaching back to pull out the tie holding together his bun.

 

“Thanks,” Steve murmured against his lips, letting his hand wind into Bucky’s hair without anything holding it back. He could feel the shudder of Bucky’s chest against his as he laughed again, ducking his head into the curve of Steve’s throat.

 

“No problem,” he whispered back, nipping a little at the sensitive flesh there. Steve yelped, his fingers curling involuntarily in Bucky’s hair, pulling it gently, and he heard the other boy moan his approval into his shoulder.

 

Steve could’ve done it all night, sunk into the bed and kissed him, let himself be kissed, forever, except for one thing. He was hard, painfully hard, lifting his hips up off the bed even in response to just gentle kisses, only Bucky was hovering too far above him to make contact.

 

So he waited, trying to force himself to stay still, until Bucky broke from his mouth to move lower, letting the hand that had been lingering on his hip drift higher, and higher, pulling his shirt up with it. And when it was high enough, Bucky leaned back down, pressing a few slow kisses into his chest before moving to his right nipple, kissing it too before sucking it gently into his mouth. He let it swell for a moment, then brushed over it with his teeth.

 

Steve groaned, and lost it. He dropped his hand from Bucky’s back, lowering it to his hips and twisting a finger inside one of his belt loops. Then he tugged forward, hard, pulling Bucky down into him.

 

Steve moaned softly the moment they brushed together, both hard in their jeans. He felt Bucky stiffen above him, shaking a little as he let his breath out in a low hiss.

 

“Jesus, Steve,” he said, lifting himself back up a little so that they were eye to eye again.

 

“Sorry,” he said, a little breathlessly. “I can’t wait.”

 

Bucky hesitated for a moment above him, looking down in his eyes. But then it was like something snapped inside him, too, and he crushed their mouths together, thrusting down into Steve at the same time.

 

He moaned again, the sound muffled by Bucky’s mouth. Bucky wasn’t gentle, wasn’t teasing – he kept up the same punishing pace, pushing down against Steve just as hard, dragging the outline of his cock as much as he could against him. And for every thrust, Steve raised his hips to meet him, building a rough rhythm.

 

He couldn’t stop himself from moaning a little every time they came together, keening in desperate whimpers. It only seemed to make Bucky go faster, rut harder, suck and bite at his lips before he broke away, panting, as if he couldn’t control himself either.

 

It wasn’t long before Steve felt heat pooling in his groin, the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside him, until he knew it was only a matter of seconds before he broke apart.

 

“Buck,” he gasped, clutching at the other boy’s arm. “Bucky – I’m gonna come from this.”

 

He felt Bucky still above him, but jerkily, as if he could barely make himself come to a stop. He could’ve groaned from the sudden loss of friction, even though he’d stopped him himself.

 

“Do you want to?” Bucky whispered, urgently. Steve writhed underneath him, searching for more contact even as he knew he had to think, think, about what he wanted.

 

“No,” he said after a moment. It didn’t feel like he’d really thought anything – the desire just flooded him, and he lowered his hand, fingering the metal button on Bucky’s jeans. “Can I – with my hand?”

 

He looked up, hesitating as he waited for an answer. He watched as Bucky licked his lips, then nodded stiffly.

 

He quickly released the button, sliding the zipper down and slipping his hand inside the other boy’s jeans. He could feel Bucky’s hips shiver as he found his cock, palming it gently before carefully pulling it out.

 

Steve nearly groaned just at the sight of it. It was red and swollen, pre-come already smeared messily around the tip and down the shaft. He was so awestuck he didn’t even pause to consider technique, wrapping his hand around it immediately and pumping slowly down.

 

Bucky’s hips jerked into his hand, making the first stroke rougher than he’d intended. He heard him hiss above him as he sucked in a gasp of air, and Steve squeezed as he dragged his fist down again, setting a pace that was too steady to be teasing, but too slow to bring him off right away.

 

He almost smiled when Bucky half-collapsed over him, holding himself up just a little above Steve’s chest. He watched as his mouth fell open, the muscles in his face twitching as he fought to keep composure, his hips rocking into Steve’s touch.

 

“I didn’t get to watch you come last time,” he said suddenly, and Bucky’s lips turned up briefly before his mouth dropped back open, keening into a particularly firm stroke from Steve.

 

“That your game?” Bucky asked stiffly, clearly struggling to get the words out.

 

Steve squeezed his cock a little harder, humming contently when his hips snapped toward him uncontrollably.

 

“Yep,” he said, easily. It was worth it, even with his own dick throbbing painfully in his too-tight jeans, to just focus on Bucky. To watch the subtle shifts in his face, the way his eyes focused in and out as he neared the edge.

 

“I think,” Bucky said, suddenly, jarring him a little from his thoughts. “You might be enjoying this – just a little – too – much.”

 

And then the other boy leaned back, shifting more of his weight onto his knees, and his hand was thumbing at the button to Steve’s own jeans, threatening to undo it. He jerked his hips up a little in surprise, groaning when his hard-on brushed up accidently against the underside of Bucky’s thigh.

 

“Can I?” the brunet asked, his fingers dragging hesitantly along the waistband.

 

Oh god yes, Steve’s mind yelped, and then he realized, under Bucky’s patient gaze, that he hadn’t said anything out loud.

 

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and breathless. “Please. Go ahead.”

 

He watched as Bucky grinned a little, instantly forgetting the high he’d ridden from being briefly in control as the other boy unzipped his jeans too, shoving them down a little and reaching inside his boxers.

 

As soon as Bucky’s hand wrapped around him, the rest of his body stiffened, seizing up and then relaxing again under his slow, confident strokes. He watched, dazed, as the boy above him leaned down, his dark hair falling forward and framing his face.

 

“Here,” Bucky said, and he nudged away the hand that Steve still had curled loosely around his cock. Then he shifted forward a little, releasing Steve’s cock from his own grip.

 

He hissed as it fell back, neglected, toward his belly, and was about to demand what Bucky thought he was doing when the other boy’s hand, so much wider than his, palmed his cock again, drawing it up. It pressed against something warm, and hard, and Steve realized, mouth falling open, that Bucky was holding both of them.

 

The other boy squeezed them both, making Steve, still a little in shock, gasp. Then he started up a slow rhythm, his hand quickly growing slick from their mingled pre-come.

 

Steve hadn’t even considered this as a possibility, when he’d imagined, frequently, what would happen this time around. And he loved it, loved the rough friction of his cock pressed against Bucky’s, skin to skin, wrapped in the slick warmth of his palm. And the way they moved together, so in sync –

 

He wondered if it was a little bit like actually fucking. He’d never felt more in unison with someone, lifting his hips to grind into Bucky’s hand. It made him afraid to open his eyes, afraid that, if they connected with his, something inside him might burst from the intensity.

 

“This okay?” Bucky asked huskily, mercifully not slowing his pace. It was all Steve could do just to keen up into his hand, trying to nod, instead letting his head thrash side to side on Bucky’s pillow.

 

“Please don’t stop,” he finally slurred, the words coming out in a rush of breath, and then Bucky squeezed them both a little harder, and pumped his hand faster.

 

Steve’s mind grinded to a halt, falling into a black hole of writhing and thrusting, letting his body run with it. The coiling heat he’d felt earlier beneath his navel swelled up again, tightening with every flick of Bucky’s wrist –

 

“I’m,” he tried to say, swallowing, whimpering suddenly before starting again. “I’m gonna –“

 

“Me too,” Bucky whispered, and then he closed the distance between their bodies, leaning down so that they were chest to chest, and found Steve’s lips. He surged up into the kiss as much as he could, his chest shuddering when he found he couldn’t breathe, but Bucky’s lips were so warm and searching and he didn’t want to break away –

 

And then he was coming, jerking up violently against Bucky’s hand as he spilled over his rucked-up t-shirt, moaning into his mouth until he had to turn his head to the side just to pant and catch his breath. His eyes were closed, his body still reverberating with thick, warm waves of pleasure, when he heard Bucky’s breathing hitch, and then he groaned too, his head falling down onto Steve’s shoulder.

 

Steve stayed still for a moment, body spent and boneless, not ready to open his eyes. He could hear Bucky’s labored breathing above him, but more than that, could feel the moist warmth of it against his throat. His forehead was a firm weight against his shoulder, and he didn’t realize how much he liked it until he felt Bucky clumsily lift himself up, only to roll next to him on the bed.

 

Then he finally did open his eyes, shifting his weight tentatively toward him. It felt a little awkward – he wasn’t sure what people did, in bed, right after, if they weren’t – well – together.

 

But his fears were unfounded, because Bucky was smiling, even as he still struggled to even out his breathing. And his hair was a wreck, and his cheeks were flushed red and his lips were swollen, and Steve felt a brief rush of pride, the way he sometimes did after finishing an especially good drawing. The sense of awe, that he’d made something beautiful.

 

But then Bucky didn’t say anything, just looked at him, stared at him, until Steve’s nerves finally caved, and he ducked his eyes a little.

 

“What?” he mumbled. Maybe he was being weird. Maybe he had stared a little too long himself. Maybe he should’ve rolled off the bed, buttoned up his pants, something.

 

Bucky didn’t say anything for a painfully long moment, his smile slowly fading as he blinked, like he was coming back into himself. Then he pointed lazily at Steve’s stomach.

 

“Your shirt,” he muttered, and then Steve looked down at himself. His mouth fell open when he saw it, the fabric plastered with thick white streaks of come.

 

“Shit,” he said immediately, grabbing the bottom of the shirt and pulling it up off his belly as he cringed.

 

“We should’ve taken that off,” Bucky said. But his voice was light, laughter floating beneath his stab at sounding regretful.

 

“That would’ve been smart,” Steve mumbled, frowning down at the mess. He sighed a little. It was kind of ruining the moment. “Uhm. Well. It’s all right. I’ll just take it off and wear my hoodie home.”

 

“No, no,” Bucky said, and then he was rolling away, sliding off the bed. Steve’s eyes widened at the brief flash of the top of Bucky’s ass, before the other boy absently tugged up his jeans. “I’ll find something you can borrow.”

 

Now they widened even further, and he would’ve blushed, if his body didn’t already look like he’d just spent an hour in a sauna. He knew it didn’t mean what borrowing clothes meant between people who were together, people who – but his heart started to beat faster all the same.

 

He watched as Bucky dug through his dresser, finally turning back with a worn black Green Day shirt.

 

“Will this work?” he asked, holding it up for Steve to consider.

 

It was at least two sizes too big, and Steve knew he would drown in it, but he would’ve accepted anything that had the official stamp of belonging to Bucky.

 

“Sure,” he said, hoping his voice sounded as light and casual as he intended. Evidently, it passed, because Bucky smiled a little as he walked back to him, passing over the bundle of fabric.

 

Steve lifted the bottom of his shirt, pulling it over the top of his head and struggling out of the shoulders carefully, not wanting to transfer anything to his hair. He froze, though, when he lifted the fabric high enough to see Bucky still standing there, watching him openly.

 

He threw his shirt aside quickly, snatching up the Green Day shirt as fast as he could, and Bucky laughed, stepping closer.

 

“What?” he said, voice teasing. “I don’t get to see?”

 

Steve didn’t know what to say to that, so he just averted his eyes, slipping into the too-big shirt easily. It was stupid, after what they’d just done, but he was suddenly aware of how self-conscious he was of his thin chest, his concave stomach.

 

“Maybe next time,” he mumbled, although he didn’t really mean that. It shouldn’t be a big deal to take off his shirt – hell, Bucky had seen enough of his chest already, he’d bit his nipple for god’s sake – but the idea of being on display –

 

“I’m holding you to that,” Bucky said. Steve could hardly look at him, but the eagerness in his voice – he lifted his eyes, feeling just the tiniest bit better as he let the loose fabric of Bucky’s shirt fall fully over him.

 

“We’ll see,” he quipped back, trying, at least, to be a little flirty. But all he really wanted to do was pull his arms inside the shirt, cross his hands over his chest, and hide.

 

Bucky didn’t seem to notice, though, his eyes roaming over Steve with approval.

 

“Looks good on you,” he said, grinning, and Steve tried to smile back, the sudden bloom of warmth in his chest fighting with his sustained nervousness. He hated this part. Now he had to leave, and he wasn’t sure what to say, and – the last time he’d tried to do this, it hadn’t exactly gone well. It was a little sad that Bucky had to hide his phone number in Steve’s pants pocket for him to discover a week later.

 

“Thanks,” he replied sheepishly, cursing himself for his lack of originality. But when he glanced back up, Bucky wasn’t looking at him anymore. He staring off to the side, frowning, and Steve followed his line of sight to the nightstand.

 

“Oh, right,” Steve said, frowning too at the sight of the brown bag sitting there. “We ordered Thai food.”

 

“Oh my god,” the other boy muttered. “I completely fucking forgot.”

 

He turned back to Bucky, and then their eyes met, and suddenly they were both laughing. It felt completely bizarre – a moment ago he was cringing, terrified, and now here they were laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world.

 

“Shit,” Bucky said, inching back toward composure. “Ahh – well. You still hungry? I can heat yours up.”

 

“No,” Steve said, still catching his breath himself.   He reached his hand out, gesturing for the bag. “Just give it to me. I don’t mind it cold.”

 

“You sure?” Bucky said, looking hesitant, but then Steve nodded and stretched his hand out a little further, and the other boy grabbed it from the nightstand. He dug through the bag, handing Steve his container and a fork before unloading his own and chucking the bag to the floor.

 

Steve lifted his fork, fully ready to eat seated on the bed, with his feet planted firmly on the floor. He raised his eyebrows as Bucky tumbled past him, not sitting next to him as he anticipated, but crawling onto the bed and around him.

 

He turned around, stretching his neck uncomfortably as he watched Bucky settle himself, leaning back against the headboard and propping his legs up on the disheveled bedspread.

 

“Come on,” he said, slapping the space next to him gently when he saw Steve staring. “Get up here.”

 

He blinked a few times, stunned, but after a moment he crawled back up on the bed too, carefully holding his container level. He settled himself next to Bucky, mirroring him, stretching out his legs. He even pushed the pillow up against the headboard, giving himself something soft to sink into as he fell back.

 

And then, as soon as he relaxed, he felt Bucky shift a little toward him, leaning his weight into his shoulder.

 

He looked down at his unopened container with wide eyes, trying not to show his surprise. He glanced at the other boy out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t seem phased at all, pulling the lid off his food casually, as if being pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Steve was the most normal thing in the world.

 

He forced himself to take the lid off his food, too, anything to avoid looking like he was obsessively overthinking this as much as he was.

 

It’s not as if they were cuddling, he told himself. They were just – eating. While touching. In a kind of affectionate way.

 

He lifted his fork, and as he dove into the noodles, the tension in his body slipped away, and it started to feel more nice than weird. Gradually, he relaxed, until he was leaning his weight against Bucky, too. They ate in silence for a minute, until he was hardly conscious of it.

 

“Yours good?” Bucky asked, finally, around a mouthful of noodles.

 

Steve hummed his agreement, still chewing.

 

“I think it’s actually better cold,” he said when he swallowed, shifting his weight a little and feeling the soft pressure of Bucky’s shoulder again. They ate in companionable silence for another few minutes, until he saw the other boy slow down and then lower his fork, hesitating in a way that made Steve slow down, too.

 

“So,” Bucky said, brushing a strand of hair back behind his ear. It was still pretty messed up, and that made Steve feel marginally better about the way his probably looked. “Would you wanna – get frozen yogurt this weekend? Or something?”

 

Steve stiffened, swallowing his mouthful of noodles as he turned to look at him.

 

“Frozen yogurt?” he repeated.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his fork frozen in the air. “I mean, unless – oh. Oh god. You don’t eat frozen yogurt. You’re a vegan. You just told me that. Shit, I – I forgot, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.”

 

“You’re not an idiot,” Steve mumbled immediately, but still Bucky turned away, looking down sourly into his noodles and stabbing absently at them with his fork.

 

“Seriously,” he said, a beat later, when Bucky was still staring down into his food like he’d just slapped him in the face. “It takes some getting used to. Dairy is in, like, everything. Trust me. I should know.”

 

It was only then that Bucky looked back toward him, his expression soft, almost – hopeful?

 

Something in his eyes startled Steve. They were – he couldn’t quite pin it down. They were too open. Vulnerable.

 

No one looked at Steve that way. Ever.

 

He had to look down himself, twirling his own noodles absently around his plastic fork.

 

“Do they have sorbet?” he asked, finally. He glanced up, but Bucky had already turned away, too. Only a smile was now hinting at the corner of his mouth.

 

“I think so,” he said, the smile growing little by little.

 

“Then yes,” Steve said. He picked at his noodles more, realizing that he was smiling, too. A slow, full smile that he couldn’t help.

 

Then they sat together, eating, or pretending to eat, too scared to really look at each other. The loose black shirt he was wearing surprised Steve every time he looked down, and he wondered, randomly, if it would smell like him later.

 

Part of him wanted to push it a little further, rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder, just to see if he would let him. See what would happen. It was a sudden desire, swelling up in him as quickly as he would shove it back down.

 

Because, he thought, taking another bite, still leaning into Bucky’s strong shoulder, this – this was enough.

 

At least for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my lifeblood. If you think I won't be hiding in the bathroom at work just to read yours, you thought wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to OnyxNailo for offering to beta this chapter! Please enjoy the blissful lack of interruption caused by typos.

Even though he’d eaten as slowly as he could without making it obvious, it still felt like only a few brief minutes had passed before he was finished.  He scraped his plastic fork absently along the bottom of the container, hesitating.

 

“I should probably go,” he said, his voice a little glum despite aiming for upbeat-casual.  His shoulder was so warm where it leaned against Bucky, and he knew he would hate the moment he had to break contact and roll off the bed.  It was just a less frightening choice than pushing the moment too far, lingering until it became weird and awkward and Bucky would have to kick him out himself.

“Oh,” the other boy said, setting down his own fork.  Steve saw that his food was mostly polished off, too.  “Yeah, okay.  I’ll walk you out.”

 

Steve nodded, trying to keep his expression neutral as he shifted his weight away from him.  He straightened up his shoulders, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed and walking over to his backpack.

 

Stop being a baby about this, he told himself, bending down to pick it up.  It wasn’t like you could stay all night.

 

He slung it over his shoulder, and when he turned back around, Bucky was already just behind him, stepping in front of him and opening the bedroom door.

 

He followed him down the stairs, feeling the need to say something closing in on him.  He wished there were standard lines for this kind of situation, the way everyone said ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ at a funeral.  What would be the standard in this situation?  Thanks for getting me off?

 

He even wondered if he should offer to pay for his half of the take out, but as he opened his mouth, he thought better of it, uncertainty gripping him.

 

Then they were at the front door, and Bucky opened it for him.  He watched as the other boy licked up his lips absently, looking down at him in the threshold.

 

“Thanks for the Thai,” Steve said, averting his eyes a little, then forcing himself to glance up again.  Smile.

 

“Thanks for helping with my paper,” Bucky said back.  He returned the smile easily, and even seeped in his shyness, that made Steve feel the tiniest bit better.

 

“I didn’t really help that much,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.  And he hadn’t, really.  All he’d done was ramble a little about Hamlet.  They hadn’t so much as opened a Word document.

 

“No, you did,” Bucky said immediately.  “You really did.  I just needed some ideas to get me started.  Something to inspire me.”

 

His grin widened, and Steve felt the top of his cheeks start to burn.

 

“Well, then, you’re welcome I guess,” he said, hoping Bucky didn’t notice.

 

A beat of silence fell between them, and he shifted the weight of his backpack on his shoulder.

 

“You’ll text me about the frozen yogurt?” he asked, finally, sheepishly looking down.

 

“I’ll text you,” the other boy confirmed.  When Steve looked up again, he seemed a little closer, almost like he’d taken a step forward.

 

“Okay,” he said.  He felt his breathing pick up a little, and he swallowed hard.  “Great.”

 

He took a step back, shifting from the threshold to Bucky’s porch.  He thought he saw the other boy’s smile falter for a moment, but then it was back, wider than ever, and whatever had happened was so fleeting that Steve couldn’t read it.

 

“Great,” Bucky repeated.  He took a step back himself, pulling the door in front of him.  He lifted his hand, waving it briefly.  “See you.”

 

“See you,” Steve said back automatically, choking a little on his voice.  As he watched the door slowly close, disappearing over Bucky’s body, he felt his cheeks burn a little harder.

 

He turned around, walking quickly down Bucky’s driveway.  It had gone well, he told himself.  A little awkward, but - well.

 

Still, he found himself slowing down, looking back toward the house briefly before he had to mentally pinch himself, force himself to keep walking.

 

It had gone well, his mind repeated soothingly.

 

But, another part of his mind whispered, if that were true – why did he feel so disappointed?

  
  


\--- --- --- --- --- ---

  
  


Later, Steve stripped down in the bathroom, getting ready to shower.  He didn’t usually shower at night, but he could still feel a lingering sheen of sweat underneath his clothes.  A part of him liked it – a reminder of what had gotten him sweating so much in the first place – but mostly he couldn’t imagine getting between the sheets with it still clinging to his skin.

 

He looked down, pulling the bottom of Bucky’s Green Day shirt out so he could admire it upside down.  Fully aware of how stupid he was being, the moment he’d gotten home and shut his own bedroom door behind him, he’d tugged the collar up to his nose, breathing in deep.

 

It didn’t smell like Bucky, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed.  It smelled clean, the fresh, chemical smell of detergent still clinging to the fabric.

 

But it was still a different kind of detergent than the kind his Mom used, and it was still Bucky’s, and that made it - special.  To his credit, though, he’d refrained from smelling it again, trying to cling to his dignity even though no one was watching.

 

Until now, anyway.  He pulled the shirt over his head, bringing it to his face in a loose ball in his hands.  He sighed into the fabric, making it feel briefly warm against his nose.

 

Stop it, his mind snapped.  He threw the shirt on the bathroom floor, moving his hands down to his jeans.

 

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Bucky’s offer since he’d left his house.  Getting frozen yogurt – he hoped he meant that literally, that it wasn’t some new term for casual sex like ‘Netflix and chill’ that he hadn’t heard yet.  He hoped it was for real, because he really did want to eat frozen yogurt with him, and talk, and watch him lick a melted smudge of it off his lips, see them turn dark red with the cold –

 

Oh my god stop it, stop it, he hissed to himself again, shoving his pants down.  He didn’t want it to be just about sex, and here he was, turning it into being just about sex.

 

Because maybe Bucky was thinking about something else.  It was hard to imagine what other reason he could have for taking him out to a public place, where he could be recognized with Steve.  Sure, people might assume he was just a friend, because surely two guys could get frozen yogurt together and it could just be a friendly thing –

 

He closed his eyes hard, breathing out.  He hated this feeling, when his mind started racing and he couldn’t make it stop.  He just felt like he had to analyze every detail, every angle, because it felt so impossible that Bucky might actually just want to go on a date with him.  A get-to-know-you, I-think-I-like-you kind of date, not a casual outing leading to getting in his pants kind of date.

 

He sighed, pushing his boxers down to join his jeans at his ankles.  He shouldn’t get his hopes up, that it was one way and not the other.  He should be grateful to have either, because in what universe did a guy like Bucky even want to just mess around with a guy like him?  He was lucky, real lucky.

 

He kicked off his clothes, watching them slide across the floor to join the discarded Green Day shirt.  Then he reached into the shower, turning on the water and adjusting it hot.  Extremely hot.

 

He should be grateful, because honestly, he’d never been hornier in his entire life.  It shouldn’t matter that much to him if Bucky liked him for, well – more than his body.  As if that weren’t hard enough to believe in itself.

 

But it did matter, he knew, as he stepped under the water and let the heat relax his muscles.  It relaxed his mind, too, letting his thoughts slip, until the day was rewinding and he was leaning back against the warm tile, remembering Bucky’s lips moving down his throat.

 

Because when Bucky kissed him in his fantasies, they were slower kisses, deeper, expressing something more than –

 

He blinked against the droplets of water on his eyelashes, reaching out to wrap a hand around himself.  He was already half-hard, his breathing slow, but steady.  Just enjoy it, he thought, squeezing himself gently.  Don’t make it into something else.

 

And he tried, imagining Bucky’s hand working over him instead of his, a broader, stronger hand that fit around him easily.  He even switched to his left once he was hard all the way, his head falling back against the shower wall.  It made it that much easier, to pretend he wasn’t alone.

 

He quickened his pace a little, jerking his wrist faster around the head of his cock.  He didn’t want to last long – that wasn’t the point – he wanted to spill all the nervous energy out of him, all the second guessing, just fall into something brief and good and overwhelming, like when Bucky was touching him and looking at him like he –

 

He groaned, letting his hips jerk up so that he was fucking his hand almost frantically, welcoming the loss of control.  It didn’t take much to get him close, and he tried to keep focusing on the idea of Bucky’s hand, jerking him off faster and faster -

 

But in the end, that wasn’t enough.

 

His fantasy shifted, so that now Bucky was leaning over him, pressing kisses not just to his lips but to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his forehead, all the while murmuring his name, urging him to come, to let go.  And then his eyes opened to look down at him, gentle and pale blue and yearning –

 

Steve hissed, cutting off what would’ve been a low moan as he came over his hand, working himself through sudden rush of pleasure until he abruptly let his wrist fall slack against his hip.  He slumped against the shower wall, chest shuddering, until he found the energy to open his eyes again.

 

He forced himself to straighten up, reach for the bar of soap.  The water was already running cool.

 

And then he was skimming it quickly over his body, his mind drifting back to the problems at hand, but in a slower way, now.  A tired way.  Wondering, again, about frozen yogurt and whether or not he should get his hopes up.

 

He shivered when he finally stepped out of the shower, toweling off his pale body before rustling it in his dripping hair.  Then he wrapped the towel his waist, gathering up his dirty clothes in one hand and padding back to his bedroom, where he tossed them aside.

 

He resisted the urge to yawn as he rummaged absently through his dresser drawer, pulling out a fresh pair of boxers.  It was barely dark outside, still early, but every fiber of his being fought against the idea of homework.  He’d wake up early, he told himself, do it in the morning.

 

He paused with his hands inside the drawer.  Usually he slept in an old t-shirt, and pajama pants, if it was cold.  But, as he thumbed through his own clothes –

 

He looked back, eyes falling on the discarded bundle of clothes on the floor.  The black fabric, tangled up with his jeans.

 

He closed the drawer slowly.  It wasn’t like Bucky would know.  It wasn’t like anyone had to know, except for him.

 

He walked over, bending down and lifting the shirt again, tugging it back over his thin chest.  He could feel his body relax as the loose fabric fell over him, still strange-smelling, still Bucky’s.  It was absurdly comforting, and he felt like nearly purring as he slid beneath his comforter, letting the blankets cocoon around him.

 

You’re pathetic, his mind whispered, but it was no match for how he felt, and he stopped it before it could keep going, suggesting all the terrible things that were bound to happen, how sure he was to get hurt.

 

He just pulled the covers tighter around himself, and refused to listen.

 

He was already drifting off, warm and mind blissfully blank, when he heard a faint buzz against his nightstand.

 

He groaned a little under his breath, but he didn’t let his sleepiness stop him from reaching over automatically, grabbing his phone.

 

A missed call, 54 minutes ago.  A new voicemail.  From Bucky.

 

And then, a text: <fri or sat??>

 

He blinked several times, his brain stirring back to life.  Did he really need to torture himself with waiting again?

 

<Sorry> he texted, his fingers moving stiffly.  <I was in the shower.  Friday?>

 

He pulled the phone under the blankets with him, where it was warm.  It didn’t take long before he felt another brief hum against his chest.

 

<yeah?> Bucky replied.  <did u have fun? ;)>

 

How did he know, Steve’s tired mind wondered.  Oh well.  No use trying to pretend.

 

<Not as much fun as studying with you> he sent.  Oddly, he hardly panicked before he hit the send button.  Either he was that tired, or he was getting used to this.

 

It took a little longer for Bucky to respond this time, and he was almost nodding off again when a new buzz startled his body back to life.

 

<u gotta say that to me when im in bed?> the other boy sent.  <all by myself?>

 

Steve hummed lowly as he read the words, his mind perking up with interest, along with his body.  But even though it was Bucky, he wasn’t sure he could take another round.

 

<You always text when I’m falling asleep> he typed out, hoping the other boy wouldn’t be disappointed.  He did kind of want to stay up and chat, he was just – the blankets were so warm.  Like Bucky’s shoulder had been when they leaned against each other.

 

<awe> Bucky replied immediately.  <did I tire u out?>

 

<Your own fault> he sent back.  <I know I may look like a 17 year old boy, but really I’m an old man. >

 

He blinked hard, forcing himself to stay awake as he watched his phone for Bucky’s response.

 

<u had me fooled> he said.  And then:  <i’ll let u sleep. but u should text me sometime when ur in bed and not tired>

 

Steve groaned pleasantly at those words, knowing he’d be thinking about them more later.  Wondering if that would be as good of an idea as it sounded.  But for now –

 

<We’ll see> he texted back.  <For now I just want my sorbet>

 

<don’t worry> Bucky sent.  <u can have it. anything u want>

 

He snorted a little at those words, rolling his eyes.  But he felt himself smiling.

 

<Don’t make promises you can’t keep> he typed out, because even in his sleep-drunk haze, there was no way he could let that one go.

 

<don’t believe me? try me> Bucky replied.  And then, before Steve could rile himself up enough to keep arguing with him - <sweet dreams.>

 

He settled himself a little more deeply into his pillow, his body relieved to hear the words, even as his mind yearned to hear more from Bucky.

 

<Sweet dreams to you too> he managed to text, his fingers fumbling a few times.  It didn’t matter how tired he was– he couldn’t bear to send a text with a bunch of spelling mistakes.

 

<oh, im confident> Bucky replied.  Steve read the words, his smile broadening briefly before it slowly slipped away.  The phone dropped from his hands, falling onto his chest and then, as he shifted in his sleep, forgotten at his side between the sheets.

 

He didn’t remember his dreams, but when he woke up the next morning, still wrapped up and warm, and found his phone again, and reread the texts, he was sure they must’ve been good.

  
  


\--- --- --- --- --- ---

  
  


Under normal circumstances, Steve was sure he would’ve continued obsessing over their upcoming date, and the question of whether it really was a date and – just, everything.  But as if he somehow knew the way Steve’s paranoid mind worked, Bucky effectively stopped all that by distracting him.

 

His first text came when Steve was spreading strawberry jelly onto a piece of dry toast, intending to shove it in his mouth and eat it as he walked, because he’d laid around in bed an ungodly amount of time that morning and was now, definitely, going to be late.

 

<so what do u eat for breakfast if u can’t have eggs?>

 

The randomness of it made him smile, and he liked that Bucky didn’t feel the need to say hello, or good morning, to start a conversation with him at seven something in the morning.  That they could just talk like they’d known each other forever.

 

As soon as he’d licked the jelly off his fingers he texted him a long list of what he could eat: the toast he’d just had that he sometimes had with peanut butter instead, cereal with almond milk, bagels with vegan cheese, because yes they made that.

 

And when Bucky texted back that he would miss his chocolate chip pancakes too much Steve rambled on about egg replacements in baking and how banana would probably work really for that or maybe canned pumpkin.

 

And then Bucky rambled about how he fucking loved all things pumpkin and fall was his favorite time of year (it was Steve’s, too) and he never got tired of pumpkin spice everything the way the rest of the world did.

 

And it was like that all day.  If they exhausted a topic Bucky would come up with something new in a little while, usually a question about his favorite whatever – color, food, movie.  It should’ve gotten boring, but it didn’t, because every new piece of information about Bucky was exciting.  And he gave Bucky every opportunity to let their conversations wrap up smoothly, but he kept asking new questions, so – Steve had to assume it wasn’t boring for him, either.

 

By the time he threw himself chest first on his bed at the end of the day, he wondered if he’d finally managed to become the stereotype of a teenager glued to his phone.

 

He was typing out a long text about how music should just make you feel good and you shouldn’t be ashamed to rock out to Taylor Swift if it helped you lose yourself in the moment and basically screw whatever other people thought when his mother knocked softly on his door.

 

“Steve?” she said, poking her head in tentatively.  “It’s your night to do the dishes, did you forget?”

 

He looked up, dropping his phone down and frowning.

 

“Oh, yeah,” he said, blinking.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll be right down.”

 

He watched as her eyes roamed over him slowly, the way she did when she could tell something wasn’t quite right with him.  He couldn’t blame her.  Before Bucky, he’d used his phone more often to check the time than to text.

 

“Okay hon,” she said, gently shutting his bedroom door closed again.

 

<I’ve gotta go for a bit> he texted Bucky, as soon as she was gone.  <Forgot to do the dishes>

 

<oh alright> Bucky sent back.  <don’t u guys have a dishwasher?>

 

Steve frowned at the question, hesitating.  They did, but it had died four months ago, and his Mom had cheerfully explained to him that it wasn’t worth it to replace it when it was just the two of them and it only took a few minutes to wash the dishes in the sink every night.  And he’d cheerfully agreed, knowing the real reason.  Money was tight, and she was putting away every extra cent toward his college fund.

 

<Yeah> he typed back, finally, deciding it would be stupid to lie about something that small.  <We do but it broke.  Not a big deal though>

 

There.  No need to say how long it had been broken.  Or why it wasn’t going to get fixed.

 

<maybe i can take a look at it sometime> Bucky sent.  Then, a moment later: <im good w/my hands ;)>

 

Steve flushed, licking his lips at the second part of the text.  He realized that they’d actually spent most of the day just talking, as opposed to flirting.  But the first part of the text surprised him, too – somehow, he hadn’t imagined Bucky as being, well.  Mechanically inclined.

 

<Seriously?> he sent back.  He didn’t want Bucky to be insulted that he was second guessing him, but – he didn’t know many people who were handy enough to just swoop in and fix random appliances.

 

<need another demonstration??> he texted, and Steve’s blush deepened.  He hoped his mother wouldn’t notice when he finally made his way downstairs.  <but yeah seriously. when i was 12 i took apart a toaster just for fun.  it took me 4 days to put it back together, my ma was NOT happy. no promises but i can try>

 

The idea of Bucky seeing his home, being in his home, made him feel a little heady.  It was almost a more intimidating thought than going to Bucky’s house had been.  But he smiled at the offer.

 

<That’s really nice of you> he typed out, a little unsure of what to say, but knowing it wasn’t going to be no.  <Okay, I really have to go before my Mom asks me again.  I’ll be back in a bit>

 

Bucky sent him a smiley face, and Steve finally stashed his phone back in his pocket.  He ran down the stairs and went straight for the kitchen sink, ignoring his Mom’s inquisitive glance as he passed her on the couch.

 

He washed the dishes as quickly as he could, racing back up the stairs.  When he pulled out his phone again, Bucky had already sent him a new text.

 

<so when should i pick u up tomorrow?> he asked.

 

Steve’s smile faltered a little, and he licked his lips nervously.  He shouldn’t be, he told himself.  It was just frozen yogurt.

 

Except it wasn’t, and his heart still picked up pace as he typed out a reply.

 

<Does 6 work?> he sent.  He fell back on his bed, sighing out a little of his nervous energy.

 

<6 is great> Bucky sent back, almost immediately.  <i can’t wait>

 

Steve swallowed at those words.  They were so common, something people always said.  But he hoped that this time, they were actually true.

 

They certainly were for him.

 

<Neither can I> he sent back, forgetting, as he increasingly had been that day, to mask his words.

 

He let his eyes slide closed for just a second, savoring Bucky’s words, savoring, really, just the pleasant thought of Bucky himself.

 

But he had a History paper to hammer out, and regretfully, he forced himself to open his eyes again, rolling himself off the bed.

 

One more day.

  
  


\--- --- --- --- --- ---

  
  


He smoothed the fabric of his shirt down over his stomach, frowning into the mirror.  He’d put on an old but beloved comics t-shirt with a blue plaid button down thrown over it, but he couldn’t decide, no matter how long he stared, if it looked effortlessly casual or like he was trying too hard.

 

He sighed, tugging again at the fabric, as if smoothing it down perfectly could make the decision obvious to him.  He wished he had a friend, someone who could give him advice, someone he could text.  He guessed he could text Sam, but they hadn’t been talking as much lately and that would probably be weird, a text out of nowhere – hey, what does this outfit say to you?  

 

That would lead to explaining Bucky, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to explain Bucky just yet.  Not when Bucky was likely to be a shooting star in his life, flying through it and burning out quickly, beautiful but brief.  He didn’t want questions, later, about what had happened, reassurances that he was young and he’d find someone great –

 

He let out another huff of breath, deciding the outfit was going to be good enough.  It was just frozen yogurt.  He had to keep reminding himself of that.  It was – just – frozen – yogurt.

 

There was a soft rapping on the bathroom door, even though he’d left it cracked, and his mother peeked inside, already in her pale lavender scrubs.

 

“I’m off,” she said, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “There’s leftover lasagna in the fridge for tonight.  Unless –“

 

Steve blinked at her soft smile as she appraised his outfit, a clear if subtle departure from the worn out hoodie he threw over everything.  He hated, sometimes, how easy it was for her to just know.

 

“- you’re going out?” she finished.  

 

He looked down, fidgeting with the rolled cuff of his shirt.

 

“Yeah,” he admitted, going for his best no-big-deal-Mom voice.  “I won’t be out late, though.”

 

“Oh?” she questioned, pushing the door open just a little more and leaning into the threshold.  “Hanging out with Sam?”

 

Steve frowned.  She’d been pushing him to hang out more with Sam, especially once it was clear that he hadn’t replaced him with a bunch of friends from his new school.  Wouldn’t it be a shame, she’d said one day, if they lost touch, just because he’d had to transfer to a school with a better art program?

 

“No,” he mumbled, tugging a little more adamantly at the cuff.  “Not Sam, uhm, someone else.”

 

“Someone else?” she echoed, her smile deepening a little.  

 

Steve fought the urge to be annoyed, knowing that she didn’t ask so many questions because she didn’t trust him, but because she was eager, and relieved.  She wanted him to have more friends, was worried, even though she never said she was worried.  

 

“Yeah,” he said, finally dropping the charade of fixing his cuff and turning his attention to fixing his hair, hoping she might take the hint and wander away.  “Someone I met at a party.”

 

“What party?” she asked, voice lilting up in surprise.  He sighed outright, finally turning around to face her.

 

“Mom,” he said pleadingly, raising eyebrows.  “Do we really have to do this?  I met a – a person, and we’re just gonna get frozen yogurt, it’s not a big deal, I know my curfew –“

 

“A person?” she repeated incredulously, placing a hand on her hip.  He’d done it now, he could tell – particularly by the way she was clearly fighting not to either grin or laugh at him.  “I don’t even get to know if this person is a boy or a girl?”

 

“Does it matter?” he asked, his annoyed tone slipping into something more serious.

 

She must have seen that, because her smiled changed, too, into something softer and more reassuring.

 

“Of course it doesn’t,” she said, after a moment, leaning her weight against the doorframe.  “I just hope this – person – is very sweet, and thoughtful, and considerate, like Sam –“

 

“I knew it,” Steve said, narrowing his eyes at her accusingly.  “You were always dropping hints that I should date Sam and I keep telling you, we’re just friends.”

 

“Oh,” she said, raising her eyebrows.  Her teasing smile was back.  “So this is a date, then?”

 

His mouth fell open a little, and he lowered his eyes, bracing himself over the sink as he fought not to just shut the door in her face.  He loved his mother – he loved his mother – she’d given him life –

 

“Okay, Mom, this conversation is over,” he said finally, shooing her away with his hands.  “I have to get ready and you have to get to work.  No more questions about Bu – this person.  Okay?  It’s fine.”

 

“Oh, sweetie, I’m not worried,” she said serenely, straightening up.  “You look very handsome, by the way.”

 

He sighed under his breath, hoping the burn on his cheeks wasn’t visible.  He’d never hear the end of that.

 

“Thanks, Mom,” he said, rolling his eyes.  “Okay, you should probably –“

 

“And your hair is perfect,” she said, reaching out to touch the short blond strands.  “You don’t have to fluff it anymore.”

 

“I’m not fluffing it I’m just,” he stammered, advancing toward the door and finally crowding her out of the threshold.  “I’m – great talk Mom, I’ll see you after work, okay?  Bye.”

 

He elongated the last word, nudging the bathroom door shut with his foot.

 

Once it was closed, he heard his mother’s exaggerated sigh from behind the door.  

 

“Love you, sweetie,” she called, her voice muffled.  He heard her soft footsteps as she walked down the hallway, and he sighed in relief, going back to his hair to fix whatever piece she’d nudged out of place.  “Have fun!”

 

It’s just frozen yogurt, he thought, rolling his eyes.  He took a final look at himself, frowning as he questioned, for the tenth thousandth time, if the button down made it look like he was trying too hard.

  
  


\--- --- --- --- --- ---

  
  


He jumped up as soon as he heard the doorbell ring, his heart instantly kicking into overdrive.  Slipping his phone into his pocket – he’d been playing a game to pass the time – he straightened his shirt one final time, forcing himself to walk slowly, calmly, to his front door.

 

Bucky was grinning as he opened it, dressed in his typical dark clothing, only this time, a bright red shirt was partly visible under his hoodie.  He tried not to be too obvious about looking him over, meeting his eyes instead.  He couldn’t resist instantly smiling back.

 

“Hey,” Bucky said, the first to speak.  He gave him an appraising gaze, running his eyes over his body, and Steve was glad he’d put so much effort into his appearance.  It wasn’t much, but at least he knew his hair was clean, and there were no stains on anything.

 

“Hey,” he said back, stepping over the threshold and pulling the front door shut behind him.  “I, uhm – I like your boots.”

 

He watched as Bucky glanced down at himself, taking stock of his black leather combat boots, loosely laced, as if he’d forgotten he were wearing them.

 

“Thanks,” he said easily, and they started the brief walk down to his driveway.  “They’re just Army overstock.  I like your –“

 

His voice trailed off, and Steve felt his shoulders stiffen.  Maybe he shouldn’t have complimented the boots.  Now Bucky was searching for something to compliment him on in return, and he obviously couldn’t think of anything.

 

He hesitated as they stopped in front of Bucky’s car, waiting for him to finish.  He watched the other boy lick his lips, still thinking.

 

“Your – just, your everything,” he said, finally.  Steve’s eyes widened, and he frowned incredulously.

 

“Uhh,” he stammered, unsure what the hell that meant.  “Thank you?”

 

Bucky didn’t seem prepared to explain, his mouth jerking into a too-wide grin before he looked away for a second.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, reaching into the pocket of his hoodie for his car keys.  “That was stupid.  Here - “

 

Steve’s eyes followed him as he walked around the front of the car, instead of just hopping into the driver’s seat, and he followed after him automatically.  He wasn’t sure what Bucky intended to do until he opened the door to the passenger side, stepping aside and gesturing with his hand for Steve to get in.

 

He flushed as he settled into the seat, Bucky carefully shutting the door from the outside.  He didn’t know guys did that for each other – did they do that for each other?

 

Part of his mind protested.  Men did that for women and it was supposed to be chivalrous, but women didn’t need doors opened for them – they should be treated the same way as men.  It was a reflection of an old-fashioned gender dichotomy –

 

But, he thought, as he clicked his seatbelt, it was also sweet.  And thoughtful.  And he kind of liked it.

 

Then Bucky was climbing into the front seat, and his thoughts halted, shifting back to the present.

 

“I like your car,” he said, letting his eyes drift over the dashboard.  It wasn’t a polite lie – it was a black SUV, but a little smaller, a Jeep, maybe.  He didn’t know cars that well.  

 

“Thanks,” Bucky said again, turning to smile at him briefly as he started to back out of the driveway.  “My parents gave it to me the Christmas after I turned sixteen.  It’s my Dad’s old car.  Then he went out and bought himself a newer one.”

 

He laughed, and Steve reached out, absently playing with the tree-shaped air freshener dangling from the rear view mirror.

 

“It’s pretty old,” Bucky continued.  “It doesn’t have that Bluetooth thing where you can stream music from your phone.  So I guess you don’t get to judge my music choices – sorry about that.”

 

Steve shrugged, relaxing back into the seat.  It was warm from the sunlight still streaming through the window, made from some kind of fake leather.

 

“I don’t care if there’s no music,” he said, glancing out the window, because it felt a little weird, staring at Bucky as he drove, when he couldn’t really look back without distracting himself.  “Talking’s better.”

 

“Agreed,” Bucky said, and when he did turn back to him, the other boy was smiling again.

 

“Besides,” Steve said, urging the words out of his mouth, giving himself permission to talk a little more freely.  “I already know you like Green Day.  Whatever else you like can’t be that bad.”

 

“No?” he questioned.  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.  But I’m glad you have so much faith in me.”

 

“Oh, come on,” Steve said, rolling his eyes.  He glanced out the window, his mind only half keeping track of how close they were getting to the frozen yogurt place.  “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever listened to?  Repeatedly?  And really enjoyed?”

 

He watched as Bucky furrowed his brows, cringing as he thought through the options.

 

“There may be certain Broadway soundtracks in my past,” he said hesitantly.  “Also the soundtracks to, uhh, certain animated films –“

 

“How far in your past?” Steve demanded, leaning a little toward him.  “Come on, we’re being honest with each other here.  The Lion King?  Frozen?”

 

“Definitely not Frozen,” Bucky said, shaking his head empathetically.  “Did Disney even make a movie called that?  Frozen?”

 

“So if I randomly started singing ‘Let It Go,’ you wouldn’t know any of the words,” Steve ventured, grinning.

 

“Absolutely not,” Bucky said, clearly struggling to maintain his frown.  “But if you wanted to give it a try, jog my memory –“

 

“Oh no,” Steve replied immediately, cutting him off with his hands in the air.  “I draw the line at singing.”

 

“Awe, really?” Bucky said, turning to him. “What if I sang with you?  And I played the music so loud you couldn’t hear yourself?”

 

“Still no,” Steve said, shaking his head ardently.  “Definitely a hard no.  And I thought you said you couldn’t play music in your car?”

 

“Well, I said it doesn’t have Bluetooth,” Bucky replied, a little hesitantly.  “You can still hook up your phone or iPod or whatever, you just need a USB cord.  I also said I didn’t want you judging my music choices.”

 

“I’m not big on judging,” Steve said, the firm edge to his voice softening a bit.  

 

“Still a lot of pressure,” Bucky said, shrugging his shoulders a little.  

 

Steve wasn’t sure how to respond to that.  It was hard to make an argument for not caring what other people thought of you when he so obviously cared what Bucky thought about him.  He remembered, cringing, just how much time he’d spent picking at his hair in the mirror.

 

Instead of answering right away, he looked down at his hands, shoulders tense.  After a moment, though, the question of what to say faded in his mind, eclipsed by the thought of Bucky driving around in his car, belting out showtunes.  He found himself grinning down into his lap.

 

“Seriously,” he said, trying not to laugh too much at the mental image.  He felt a sudden rush of affection, the way he did when he reached down to pet someone’s dog.  “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

 

He glanced over, watching Bucky carefully turn the wheel.  He didn’t say anything right away, either, but he was smiling.  Steve wondered if he was just the kind of guy who smiled all the time, or –

 

He didn’t get to finish his thought, because Bucky made another sharp turn, and  then he realized they were already pulling into the strip mall with the frozen yogurt place.  He straightened himself back up, suddenly nervous as Bucky parked the car and cut the engine.

 

“Uhm, well.  We’re here, so –“ the other boy said, turning to look at him after a beat of silence.

 

“Oh, yeah,” he replied automatically.  He unclicked his seatbelt, watching as Bucky did the same and hopped out of the car.  He was just reaching over to open his door when he caught sight of the other boy crossing quickly in front of the hood and over to his side.

 

He tried not to blush as Bucky opened the door for him again, and he climbed out of the car without really looking at him.

 

“You don’t have to open doors for me, you know,” he mumbled, even as Bucky opened the door to the frozen yogurt store and stepped back, gesturing for him to go in first.

 

“I’m trying to be a gentleman,” he said, leaning down to almost whisper the words into his ear.  Steve looked up at him, frowning.

 

“What if I wanted to be the gentleman?” he said, trying and failing not to sound petulantly grumpy at the whole situation.  “We can’t both open doors for each other.”

 

“Sure we can,” Bucky said, as they walked side by side to the wall of flavors.  “I’ll open the door for you, you go inside, then we shut the door in my face, you open it for me –“

 

“You’re such an ass,” he grumbled, even as Bucky laughed warmly at his insult.  “Clearly the whole gentleman thing doesn’t come naturally to you.  Maybe you should do it, like, fifty percent of the time.”

 

“Exactly fifty percent of the time?” Bucky questioned, studying the options before them.  “Where are the vegan ones?  It said on their website that they have ‘dairy free alternatives’.”

 

Steve was busy looking too, but not intently enough to miss the chance to answer.

 

“Yes, exactly fifty percent,” he shot back.  “The only percentage that would actually be, you know, fair.  Ahh - here, I think it’s just these two.  You have to read the little print under the label.”

 

“Only two?” Bucky asked, frowning.  “Sorry.  Strawberry and mango.  Not a lot to choose from.”

 

“The good ones are never vegan,” Steve replied sullenly.  He grabbed a cup, going for mango.  “You can get the cheesecake one, though.”

 

“Nah,” Bucky said, grabbing a cup for himself.  “I always go with peanut butter.  How about eighty twenty?”

 

“That’s not even –“ Steve began, abruptly cutting himself off as they reached the toppings bar, and he was hit with the sheer number of options available to him.

 

“Sixty forty, great,” Bucky said, lifting an overflowing spoonful of crushed Oreo cookies above his cup.  “It’s settled.  Can vegans eat gummy bears?”

 

“First of all, no,” Steve said firmly, reaching over him to the raspberries.  “And second of all – no.  Not usually.  Because they make gelatin from animal bones.”

 

“Seriously?” Bucky asked, mouth falling open as he lifted a spoonful of the brightly colored candies.

 

“Seriously,” Steve affirmed, trying not to smirk as Bucky slowly lowered the spoon back down.

 

“I may be able to get over that,” he said, cringing.  “But maybe not right now.”

 

He went for crumbled Twix bars instead, and Steve looked over the rest of his choices, deciding on a fruit theme and picking out small spoonfuls of strawberry and kiwi.  He watched as Bucky pumped a thick layer of hot fudge over his mound of yogurt, then added an overflowing portion of sprinkles.

 

“So you can’t have marshmallows either?” he questioned, turning his attention to him as they went to stand in line for the cashier.  

 

“Nope,” Steve said.  He resisted the urge to start picking at his yogurt even before they paid, the sweet citrus smell of it floating to his nose as they waited.

 

“But – s’mores?” Bucky asked.  He looked truly distressed, mouth falling open as if Steve had just told him he lived on a diet of bread and water.

 

“Nope,” he repeated, shaking his head.  “No s’mores.  I think you can get special marshmallows, though.  They’re just hard to find.”

 

“I can’t imagine a life without s’mores,” Bucky said, frowning.  And then it was their turn to pay, and before he even realized what was happening, the other boy was whipping out his wallet to pay for the both of them.  

 

“You don’t have to pay for me,” Steve said quickly, automatically, before it was too late.

 

“I invited you,” Bucky stressed, giving him a smile that, Steve had to admit, instantly wore on his resolve.  

 

“But –“ he began, searching for an excuse, and the other boy sighed.

 

“Sixty forty,” he said, pulling out a twenty dollar bill.  “Let me treat you this time, okay?”

 

“I did not agree to sixty forty,” Steve said immediately.  But Bucky stared him down, and the cashier raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unamused, and after a moment he relented, nodding his head.

 

“Fine,” he muttered, and when Bucky had his change, they picked up their cups and wandered into the seating area.  He was surveying the empty tables, wondering where they should sit, when the taller boy suddenly froze next to him.

 

“Bucky!” a female voice called.  He followed the sound, and his eyes widened as he recognized the beautiful redhead from the party, smiling and clearly waving them over.  The blond guy she’d been with – Steve couldn’t remember his name – was with her, slumped heavily in the booth and digging fudge out of the bottom of his cup.

 

He looked over at Bucky uncertainly – she was his friend, after all – and watched as his jaw clenched.  Then he sighed, walking over to their table, and Steve followed just behind him.

 

“Hey,” she said, once they reached her.  “How funny running into you here.  We just had a sudden craving.”

 

“Oh, shut it, Natasha,” Bucky said, his voice vaguely annoyed.  He sat down across from her, and Steve, faced with no real choice, sat next to him in turn, across from the blond guy.  “I told you we were coming here.  You just showed up to spy on me.”

 

“What?  Me?  Spy on you?” she said coyly, scooping a black cherry from her bowl.  “Never.  Although I have to say, I have been curious to meet this famous Steve.”

 

He flushed at the word ‘famous,’ glancing over at Bucky, who rolled his eyes at her comment.  He wondered what Bucky had told her about him.  He was surprised he’d said anything at all.

 

“Well, here he is,” Bucky said, suddenly shifting as if about to stand.  Steve’s eyes widened, and he turned toward him more fully, hoping to catch his eye, make him stop somehow.  “In the flesh.  And if you’ll excuse me, I have to run to the bathroom.”

 

His mouth fell open, but there was no way to protest.  He was really just going to leave him here, alone, with two people he didn’t know?

 

A mix of panic and indignation rose in him, and as Bucky stood, he narrowed his eyes up at him, hoping at least to send the message that he was not okay with this.

 

But before he left the table, the other boy ducked back down, kissing Steve briefly on the cheek.

 

He blinked, all thoughts instantly cleared from his mind as blood rushed to his face.  At least, that is, until the redhaired girl – Natasha – turned to her boyfriend and started talking, startling him from his stunned haze.

 

“Did you see that, Clint?” she said, a little sourly.  “That was called being romantic.  You should be taking notes.”

 

He watched as the blond raised his eyebrows, shrugging at her as he licked more fudge from his spoon.

 

“We’ve been together six months, babe,” he said, sucking on the plastic.  “Just admit it.  The romance is dead.”

 

“It wouldn’t be dead,” she said, frowning at him.  “If you made a little effort every once in a while.”

 

“I like what we’ve got,” he said, bumping his shoulder into her playfully.  Her frown only deepened.  “You watch me play video games.  I watch you paint your nails.  We can just be chill together.  We don’t need all that la-di-da rom com crap.”

 

Natasha rolled her eyes, unfortunately shifting her attention across the table and back to him.

 

“What do you think, Steve?” she asked.  Her eyes were almost as intensely blue as Bucky’s, but they were definitely not something he wanted to get lost in.  He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her gaze.  “Is that it?  Is that all love is?  Being ‘chill’ together?”

 

He frowned, completely at a loss for what to say.  If he didn’t agree, it would be like condemning their relationship – or at least, Clint’s version of it.  But if he did, it would be like taking his side, and he felt instinctively that, if he was being forced to choose between the two of them, he was much safer siding with Natasha.

 

“You’re doing that thing where you intimidate people,” Clint said suddenly, and her eyes flashed instantly to him.  “Ask him something easy.  Here, I’ll start.”

 

Steve watched warily as he straightened up, leaning toward him and extending his hand.

 

“Hey man, what’s up, I’m Clint,” he said, and Steve took it, shaking it awkwardly.  “I like to shoot arrows.  This is my girl Natasha.  She kicks ass at ballet.  What do you do?”

 

“I, uhh,” he began hesitantly.  “I like to draw?”

 

“Cool,” Clint said, releasing his hand and leaning back, turning again to Natasha.

 

“See how easy that was?” he asked, and she narrowed her eyes at him a little further.

 

“I don’t want to know what Steve likes to do,” she said tartly, turning her penetrating eyes back on him.  He sunk a little lower in his seat.  “I want to know if he’s romantic.  I want to know how he plans to treat my Bucky.”

 

Steve’s mouth fell open at that, and he felt his blush return full force.

 

“It might be a little early for, uhh,” he said, stammering.  “Any plans like that.”

 

“Come on,” Clint said, wrapping his arm loosely around her shoulders.  “Back off.  You’re scaring him.”

 

“I want him to be scared,” she said, leaning toward him across the table.  He fought the urge to automatically lean back.  “I want him to think twice about hurting him.”

 

“We’re just getting frozen yogurt,” Steve said, weakly.  He looked down, seeing his mango sorbet already beginning to melt into a bright orange ooze.  

 

Clint sighed, leaning toward him again, so close that it was almost like he was trying to cut Natasha out.

 

“I’m gonna say this for her,” he began, shaking his head a little.  “Because it’s just faster.  Nat loves Bucky.  Fuck with Bucky, and you’re fucking with Nat.  And seriously man, you don’t wanna fuck with Nat.”

 

Steve picked up his plastic spoon, sticking it awkwardly into the fruity mess.  He held his gaze with Clint, because he was frankly too afraid to look directly into Natasha’s eyes.

 

“I swear,” he said, slowly, because it seemed to be explicitly expected from him, “I have no intention of, ahh, fucking with anyone.  Especially not Bucky.”

 

A brief silence fell over the table, and he shoved a piece of strawberry in his mouth, chewing tensely.

 

“Good,” Natasha said, finally.  “I’m very happy to hear that.  So – drawing, huh?”

 

Steve looked down into his cup, continuing to chew as an excuse for his silence.  He was saved from having to come up with an answer when Bucky suddenly reappeared behind his shoulder.

 

“Wow,” he said, settling back into the seat next to Steve.  “It looks like you two are all done with your yogurt, huh?  I’d really hate for you to feel like you had to stay and watch us eat –“

 

“Oh relax, we’re leaving,” Natasha said, nudging Clint in the rib.  They both began to stand up, grabbing their empty cups. “Steve – such a pleasure.  So glad I got to meet you.”

 

He watched them go, absently lifting a few spoonfuls of half-melted sorbet into his mouth, until he saw them both slip out of the door.  Then he rounded on Bucky, stabbing his spoon toward him accusingly.

 

“Did you leave me alone with them on purpose?” he hissed, completely forgetting, for a moment, that he should probably be pretending to really like Bucky’s friends.

 

“Maybe,” the other boy said, lifting a fudge-covered spoon to his own lips.  He withered under Steve’s glare.  “Okay, yes, I’m sorry.  It’s just easier if she gets to say her piece.  Then she can move on to starting to like you.”

 

“Say her piece?” Steve questioned.  He was still annoyed, and residually terrified by Natasha’s threats, but being alone with Bucky again, he started to relax.  

 

“She did, didn’t she?” Bucky asked, taking another bite.  “Threaten you?  Something like, if you hurt Bucky, I’m gonna sneak into your room at night and cut off your balls with a rusty razor blade?”

 

“She didn’t use that level of detail,” Steve replied, grimacing.  “But thank you, for elaborating.  As I try to eat.”

 

“I know she can be – intense,” he said, frowning.  “But we’ve known each other a long time, and she’s a good friend.  And I really didn’t know she’d be here, or else I would’ve prepared you in advance.”

 

Steve watched as Bucky continued to slowly eat, his frown deepening.  He did look sorry, and as the seconds passed, his annoyance slipped away.

 

“It’s all right,” he said, bumping his shoulder gently into Bucky’s.  He was rewarded when the other boy’s smile reappeared, slowly, but brighter than ever.

 

“Yeah?” he asked, licking his lips after taking another bite.  “She didn’t scare you away?”

 

“She’d have to do a lot better than that,” he said, averting his eyes a little, because the smile Bucky maintained was infectious, and it was really difficult to grin and eat successfully at the same time.

 

“Good,” the other boy said firmly.

 

Like with the Thai, they finished their yogurt in comfortable silence, and it felt like no time had passed at all before Steve was watching Bucky scrape the bottom of his cup, finally setting it aside.

 

“Did you wanna do something after this?” he asked, abruptly.  “Go see a movie, or something?”

 

Steve blinked, a little surprised.  He’d mentally prepared himself for frozen yogurt.  Just – frozen yogurt.

 

But he realized that he did want to do something.  Anything, really – it didn’t have to be a movie.  Anything so that he could keep spending time with Bucky.

 

“I mean, I understand if you, you know, have plans tonight,” Bucky continued, and Steve realized he’d just been sitting there, rudely, not answering him.  “I didn’t say anything about –“

 

“No,” Steve said, cutting him off and then feeling his face grow hot when he realized what he’d said.  “I mean – no, it’s still early, right?  So – yes?”

 

He watched as Bucky grinned at that, leaning close to him.  So close that their shoulders pressed together, side by side, and he swore he felt the bridge of Bucky’s nose nudge the top of his ear.

 

“Okay,” he whispered, and even though his voice was low, quiet, Steve could still hear the excitement in it.  He resisted the urge to close his eyes and fully savor it, the warmth he felt spread inside his chest any time he did something to make Bucky smile, or laugh, or sound that eager.

 

Only he couldn’t.  Time with Bucky was like sand between his fingers, and he could only savor the feeling as it ran through.

 

“Okay,” he whispered back, unable to stop his smile.

 


End file.
